Our Souls Entwined
by Tai Naito
Summary: The battle is over, but the war is just wrapping up. Hogwarts is in shambles, people are missing, and magic has gone haywire. Hermione thinks she can find the answers. But she'll need help, and it comes from an unusual obsession. HG/SS.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The sunlight beamed through the towering arched windows, illuminating the dancing clouds of dust that had been accumulating over the ancient tomes for centuries. The massive bookshelves stretched out in expansive waves, an endless ocean of history and knowledge, winding and bending upon themselves until the sunlight was unable to reach its deepest depths. Every turn bore more enlightenment, more secrets whispered into countless heads, and all one had to do was reach out and take it.

Harry Potter had never had an appreciation for books.

In fact, with a history such as his, he harbored a great distrust of a good many of them. Dangerous things lay in the tomes he walked among. Thankfully, he wasn't here looking for books.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he sat across from his bushy-haired friend. The sight of her barely visible form behind texts of all shapes and sizes was a sight so familiar he hadn't realized how much of a comfort it brought him until the tight knot in his chest ever so slightly relaxed. "Hermione," he spoke gently- she hadn't noticed his presence yet.

Despite the soft tone he used, Hermione still jumped. When she saw him, a smile beamed across her face and she picked up the book she was reading to show him.

"He's not gone!" she hissed excitedly, brandishing the book. "Harry, I remembered- I had looked into it before, years ago, I was thinking about how magic accumulates naturally, in families, especially in unusual circumstances- but that doesn't matter." She set the book down, flipped through it, slammed it shut and brandished it again. "The point is I knew I read it somewhere, I found it, and here it is!" She handed it to him, grinning ear to ear.

Harry was still trying to make sense of what she was saying as he took the book and looked at the title. THE MAGIC OF TWINS: What Your Children Will Experience Before, During, and After Life.

"What are you… hang on- twins?" He looked up at her quickly, heart racing. "Do you mean… is Fred-?"

She shook her head, her smile fading slightly. "Harry, no, he's still… I mean, well look at yourself for example- if all twins could avoid death your own survival wouldn't be so impossible, everyone would just assume you had a twin somewhere." Taking the book back, she opened up to a chapter at the end of the book and showed it to him again. Ignoring his momentary disappointment, he glanced down at the crisp pages, the uniformed text spilling out before him. "In the beginning of the book," Hermione continued, "it explains that a twin's soul is actually two halves of a whole. In this chapter, The End is Just the Beginning, it tells us that a twin who passes before the other cannot move on- not truly- until the other half is reunited to make a whole." She looked into his face, excited, and exclaimed, "Don't you see?"

He looked up, thinking. "Voldemort could not die until all his soul fragments were destroyed. So it would make sense that Fred could not move on until the second half- George!" He looked over at Hermione, equally excited. "George is his tether! Fred can't go anywhere without George!"

"Exactly!" Hermione stuck the book in her bag, and grabbed another. "We just have to find him," she announced, flipping through The Supernatural End: Ghosts, Glimmers, and Everything In Between. "I haven't found how. There's ways to find ghosts, but that's not exactly what he is. You see," she looked up at him. "Fred would be tied to George and should have appeared to him by now. I'm not sure why he isn't…"

Harry noticed the early signs of his friend fading away from him and quickly pulled her back. "Hermione, they need you in the infirmary tent. Things are a bit hectic."

Starting, Hermione looked at her watch. "Oh no!" she squeaked, throwing book after book into her backpack and leaping up from the table. "Thank you, Harry, I've got to run!"

"The wards are down, you can apparate there if you need to!" he shouted after, but she was already gone.

Watching her retreating form, he felt a faint glimmer of hope somewhere deep inside his chest. _Fred…_ If just one person… just _one_ person that sacrificed their lives for him could once again be reunited with their family…

He would do anything to make that happen.


	2. Chapter One

A/N: This chapter was re-uploaded because of course the day after I post it is the day I think of a much better way to write a specific scene... And again after I realized my scene breaks weren't uploading.

Chapter One

The contrast between the library and the rest of the castle was so severe that Hermione froze. The library had felt so normal, she had expected to be greeted with the same sights she had been used to as a student; warm sconces lighting the stone halls filled with cheerful paintings, students and faculty clustered around, the stained glass window down the way adding splashes of color to the walls around it. Instead she faced a broken, crumbling wall, bits of portrait and shards of colorful glass panes scattered on the ground at her feet. There were no dancing colors on the walls; there was no laughter or lighthearted chatter or footsteps across the stone. The only sounds that enveloped her were the shouts and clamoring of the parties in the courtyard, carried to her on a breeze.

Hermione turned back to look at the pristine library. The barriers and protections cast upon the section of castle was truly a work of art. Not a page had moved an inch during the battle, it seemed. The tables had gone slightly askew, the dust was thoroughly disturbed, one of the lamps had even fallen from its hook- but the books suffered no harm. For this she was grateful.

Facing the destruction immediately outside the library was a brutal reminder of the pain she had sought to escape. Now it lay fresh before her as she moved carefully down to the Entrance Hall. She tried not to think too deeply about who could have died on those steps, who could have been buried under that rubble. The thoughts came anyway.

The sun shone high on the grounds as she exited the castle, beating down on the backs of the witches and wizards clearing rubble. She recognized Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood levitating a particularly large chunk of stone and carefully walking it over to a man blasting the rubble into powder. Behind them a ways were ministry officials gathered around in a semi-circle around the newest of exposed bodies- Hermione quickly looked away.

The celebrations had gone on all night, but for Hermione, the only celebration she could manage was relief that this nightmare was over. When she was younger, when Harry brought back a witness account of Voldemort's return, she had imagined the three of them defeating him just as they had helped Harry in the past; she imagined a glorious battle, a satisfied vengeance for Cedric Diggory, and she imagined them as heroes, smiling, a fairy tale ending.

It wasn't a long-lived fantasy, as fifth year had proven to her that this was going to be different; it wasn't a battle they were fighting- it was a full blown war. She felt the shame of a silly schoolgirl for thinking otherwise, even for as brief a moment as she did.

A loud crack, a shout, and a crash-

Hermione whipped around, wand at the ready and adrenaline surging, but exhaled with relief when she saw Neville and Luna kneeling by the rock-blasting man, their large chunk of stone cratered where he had been standing. She turned back towards the infirmary tent, still shaky. When would the paranoia fade? She kept her wand in her hand for comfort.

The infirmary tent had been erected shortly after Voldemort's fall two mornings ago, during the beginnings of the celebration. Healers from St. Mungo's were dispatched to tend to the injured- and quickly fell under Madame Pomfrey's command. Hermione had come to the tent late that first night, unable to sleep and wanting to be useful. They had no time to train her beyond her basic knowledge of first aid but needed a pair of eyes and gladly accepted her help monitoring the condition of a comatose man in dangerously serious condition. She has since taken up this vigil during every meal and late at night.

Hermione pushed aside the tent flap and ducked inside. The tent was longer than it was wide, with a row of beds on both sides, each with a nightstand to the right and a clipboard at the foot. To the left of the entrance was a small podium with a list of patients and their current status. Hermione didn't need to check the list to know how her patient was doing.

Every nurse and matron was crowded around his bed, shouting.

"Don't hold him down- where's that potion?!"

"The spell isn't working! He's going to shake himself off the bed!"

"Out of my way- try to tilt his head back- Oof!"

Hermione had made her way through the crowd in time to witness her patient, in the midst of having a seizure, smack a nurse across the chest hard enough to knock her down. As she stepped forward to help the woman she noticed a small vial slip from the nurse's hand and roll towards her. Grabbing it, she lunged forward and- uncorking it with her teeth- grabbed the man's forehead and dumped the potion down his throat. Sidestepping flailing limbs the nurses threw themselves backwards and watched as their patient slowly settled.

Madame Pomfrey turned towards a young nurse in a fit of rage as she stepped forward to check the man. "Where was the calming spell when we needed it, Miss Clarence? If you can't manage simple first aid spells, you are no good to me!"

Miss Clarence, attempting to straighten her wildly tousled hair, threw her hands down in frustration. "I told you- the spell wasn't working! I can cast that spell in my sleep, Madame, you've seen me do it countless times!"

"Perhaps your wand-" the nurse that had been tossed offered.

"My wand is fine!" Miss Clarence shot her wand up in the air and perfumed the room in rose-scented puffs. "I tell you, something happened. The magic just wouldn't come!"

"Miss Granger, please replace the bandages on our patient," Madame Pomfrey ordered, finishing her last evaluation spell with a flourish and stepping away from the bed. "He should be fine; the potion has done what Miss Clarence failed to do for him."

"I TOLD you-"

Hermione stepped past the nurses and grabbed the bandages from the side table drawer. As she gathered, she could hear the witches still arguing. Hermione's head was full of confusing thoughts. The last two days taught her that Miss Clarence wasn't just a Mediwitch; she may very well be the finest Mediwitch in this tent, save Madame Pomfrey. A simple calming spell would not have been difficult for her to manage in a life-or-death situation, which- scary as they are- grand mal seizures in a wizarding hospital tend not to be. Madame Pomfrey knows this, she thought to herself. She'll see when she calms down. Something else was happening.

Shaking her head, Hermione put those thoughts aside and focused on what was in front of her- her patient. During the seizure, the man was a hurricane of limbs and spasms. Now, however, he was quite still. She took a moment to look him over.

The bandages around his neck needed replacing as they were soaked with blood. The seizure had damaged his newly-healed rib once again, and while Madame Pomfrey had spelled it back into place, the bandage wrapping was sweatsoaked and loose. In fact, his whole body was sweatsoaked- his raven-black hair stuck to his forehead with frustrating determination and as she brushed it away from his now peacefully shut eyes she noticed his skin was clammy and hot. Beads of sweat dripped off his prominent Romanesque nose that flared with each soft breath he took and his often-sneering mouth, now at rest, was unsettlingly pale. With a plan of action, Hermione went to work.

Hermione folded the blanket over so that it was only covering him from the waist down and finished prepping the materials she would need. As she rubbed a sanitizing lotion on her hands, she looked into the face of the man that had so often made her feel miserable.

"The irony is not lost on me," she told him. "For years you made it clear I was nothing but a constant headache- and now I can say the same for you, Professor Snape."

Like this, Hermione could feel pity for her Professor. Vulnerable as he was, she could even feel grief.

She got to work.

* * *

Evening had come, and with it a sort of peace. The infirmary tent had quieted, allowing the occupants their much needed rest. A few nurses remained to patrol the beds, checking charts and administering medicines. Outside the tent, the hustle and bustle had settled to a constant hum of noise. And Hermione Granger could still be found at her professor's bedside, curled in a plush chair with a book in her lap.

She flipped through the pages slowly, her eyes darting around as they searched for the answers the small pile of books next to her chair could not give her. This book, Magical Death and Why We Shouldn't Fear It, was no more promising than the others, it seemed.

Frustrated, she slammed the book closed and threw her head back against the chair. "I don't understand why," she spoke softly to the ceiling. Her eyes closed in concentration as she started to talk herself through the problem. "A twin who has passed on 'should within the day appear to the other.' In nowhere I've read does it say anything else. There's no need to summon the other, there's no spells cast or potions made, and it's not like Fred could just choose to not-"

The thought abruptly stopped as flashes of memory danced across Hermione's closed eyelids.

Shouts. Fire. Flashing spells. A collapsing wall-

She jerked upwards, eyes open wide, her chest suddenly tight.

 _I can't breathe_! She struggled to think, to stop the sudden panic she felt spread through her. "Hermione, come on; calm yourself. A deep breath in, a deep breath out," she whispered hurriedly. She mimicked her self-commands and her chest loosened enough for her to take her breath.

"Good," she said, "now focus. What do you see?" She struggled to adjust her eyes, but looked straight forward and kept speaking to herself under her breath.

"White. Sheets. Good. What else? An Arm. Pale. Leads to a shoulder. Black hair, Professor Snape. Good." Keeping her eyes focused on reality, she felt her swimming head clear. Taking another deep breath, she stood, and stared down at the man in the bed. "Professor Snape is here, in the infirmary tent. He is stable. I am- I am-" She paused, blinked, and took his wrist in her hand. "I am here to watch over him."

Under her fingers she felt for his pulse. Badum. Badum. The rhythm coursing through his veins calmed her until her chest relaxed and her own heart calmed.

Suddenly exhausted, she all but fell back into her seat, but she never let go of Professor Snape's wrist. He was, at the moment, her tether to reality. She needed the badum badum under her fingers to remind herself that the battle was over, that she was safe, that she could breathe.

Hermione pulled her legs close, resting her chin on her knees. She sat that way for quite a while, staring at the man in the bed, feeling his pulse beneath her fingers, watching his chest rise rhythmically in restful sleep. Unconsciously her own breath began to mimic his. Her eyelids grew heavy as she watched. She closed her eyes and sighed.

* * *

There was a flash of light.

Confused, Hermione sat straight up. The medical tent was darker than she remembered. It was quieter. She was sitting in a chair next to her professor, her head on her knees and her hand on his wrist… she must have fallen asleep. She dropped his arm and heard a disappointed "tsk!" Looking up she saw a man holding a camera at the foot of Snape's bed.

"Oh dear, sorry to wake you!" he hissed.

"Did you take my picture?"

"It's just, it was such a beautiful opportunity, so romantic, you see-"

"Get rid of it."

The man's smile faltered. "'Get rid of it'? I can't do that! It's a beautiful portrayal of how even the darkest of times can't keep the strength of love away from-"

"We're not lovers," she said dryly. "He's just my professor. Your picture is a lie."

"Oh," he smiled. "My pictures never lie. I only capture the truth-" Hermione stood up and pulled her wand out from her pocket. "Okay, ma'am, I understand! You won't see me again!" He scurried out of the tent.

Frustrated, she followed him out of the tent and watched him disapparate. "Who was that?" she asked herself.

"The Daily Prophet sent photographers to document the aftermath of the final battle." Minerva McGonagall stepped next to her from the shadows. "They've been scurrying here and there, pushing boundaries and generally annoying everyone who's truly trying to get some actual work done here." With a sigh, McGonagall put her hand on Hermione's shoulder. "How are you, my dear? I've seen so little of you since all this happened; I've been worried."

"Professor," Hermione greeted her warmly with a tired smile, "I'm- fine." Before she could question Hermione's state any more, she asked, "Why are you here? Did you need something?"

"A letter from Harry just arrived for you, dear." Hermione was handed a short note with her name familiarly scrawled on the front. "It seems the owls are a bit confused, and have been delivering all their mail to the Headmaster's office."

"Why would Harry write me a letter instead of just coming to see me?" She broke the seal on the letter and folded it open.

"I'm sure he says in the letter, dear." McGonagall patted her shoulder. "Do me a favor; when you're done with your shift, please come see me in my tent. It's the red one by the Quidditch Pitch." With a nod, she wandered down to a small gathering of Ministry officials.

Hermione watched her go for a moment before turning to the letter in her hands. Wandering back into the tent, she read:

 _Hermione,_

 _I'm glad you're finally sleeping! I don't think I will be tonight. Come to Ron's when you can. The Weasleys need help. I am trying my best, but I don't know what to do. There's just too much sadness._

 _Harry_

Nodding at the letter as she slipped it into her back pocket, she took her place next to Professor Snape once more. "That explains the note, at least," she whispered softly to herself. Sleep came at such a cost to her lately. Closing her eyes brought forth flashes of the dead, injured, and terrifying. It was easier to stay awake; easier to focus on something else.

Like this man in front of me, she thought to herself as she moved to gather supplies on the nightstand- one of the few things the nurses allowed her to do was to change the bandages on his neck wound in between their check-ins.

It seemed the only time she had found peace, she had been at Professor Snape's side. Something about the act of caring for another person calmed her, and tonight she had been able to rest, even after her moment of panic. Her days lately have been filled with nothing but distractions and emotions. It was nice to have a safe place… no matter what shape that took. Pulling out new gauze and bandage from a drawer, she tried and failed to not look back on that night.

"I thought you were dead," she said out loud to the man as she started replacing his bandages. She spoke to him often as a comfort, pouring out her musings and contemplations on this poor comatose patient who had, for the time being, no choice but to listen. "The life seemed to leave you so suddenly, it was terrifying. How you managed to survive that-"

Her words cut off as she considered something. Harry and Ron had questioned her previously on her determination to stay at Professor Snape's bedside. It felt odd to tell them about how being here, with him, helped her breathe. For a time she considered it just to be the act of caring for another person. The routine of it all was very soothing. But she knew deep down that it was more than that. If she were asked to watch any other patient, she would still have taken an interest in her Professor.

She wasn't sure why until she considered what she had just said. "Is that why I worry about you, why I want you to wake up?" She asked aloud. "So I can talk to you about that night? How you survived? Are you just another puzzle to me?"

She finished wrapping his neck and pulled a few strands of hair out from the bandage. "No, that's not it," she muttered. "I think... I think I'll have to think about this some more," she said with a smile. Her fingers brushed against his chin and the newly-grown facial hairs scraped against her knuckles. This was the first time she had seen him with any facial hair, and the contrast in the dark hairs and his pale skin was glaring. "I'll see to it that you have a good shave, Sir. We can't have you looking any less menacing, now, can we?" she joked with a soft smile.

The tent flap fluttered and Miss Clarence stepped through. "Hello again, Miss Granger," the other woman greeted, taking a look around as Hermione responded in kind. "I'm here to shoo you away. I take it our lovely patient is still breathing?"

"He had a great night," Hermione responded, smiling. "I just replaced his bandages and was hoping we could get him a shave." Reaching down to pick up her backpack, she added, "He doesn't look nearly scary enough with a 5 o'clock shadow."

Miss Clarence laughed, stepping forward to take his vitals. "You're right about that. I'll take care of him, don't you worry. The next time you see him his cheeks will be as smooth as a baby's bottom." Turning to look at the younger girl, she added, "Now do me a favor and get some rest. A bite or two wouldn't hurt either."

Hermione smiled reassuringly. "I'll do what I can," she promised as she walked out of the tent and made her way towards the Quidditch pitch.

A/N 2: I'm scared. These two "Chapters" took me YEARS to write and be satisfied with. I am so sorry if you guys fall in love with my story and then I disappear. I will try so hard not to do that to you. I have big plans for this story, and I hope I can pull it off. I hope you've enjoyed it so far.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Professor McGonagall's tent was, as most wizard tents are, larger on the inside than an outsider would guess. Despite this, hers was surprisingly very modest. With just one room, a large desk taking up most of the space in the center of it and a heavily quilted bed in the corner, it gave off a very cozy feeling. When Hermione entered, she felt nearly the same comfortable feeling the Gryffindor Common Room gave off, as if she were home. It made her wonder if her Head of House had anything to do with the décor of the tower.

Her Professor was sitting at the dark wood desk, and when Hermione entered she looked up and smiled. "Miss Granger, I'm glad you're here," she welcomed, gesturing to the plush red chair across from her. "Would you like some tea, biscuits?"

At the suggestion of a meal, Hermione's gut clenched. Placing a hand on her stomach, she replied, "Thank you, ma'am. Just tea, please. Tea sounds great."

A knowing look crossed Professor McGonagall's face and she made a slight "hmm" of acknowledgement as she summoned a plate of tea and biscuits. She poured Hermione a cup and with a side glance slipped a biscuit on her plate anyway. "Humor me, please, Miss Granger," she said as she passed the dish across the desk.

Inwardly cringing, she nodded and took a sip of the tea. Thankfully, liquids didn't turn her stomach the way solid food had come to do. Its heavy aroma and peaceful chamomile undertones soothed her and as it made its way down her throat it warmed her pleasantly from the core. She let out a tiny sigh of contentment. Professor McGonagall watched her a moment and then cleared her throat.

"Miss Granger, how are you?"

Hermione set her teacup softly onto its dish. She knew her professor was not making small talk. Her eyes were staring as though through her, evaluating her state from the bags she knew rested under her eyes to the way her body held itself with a lack of strength. Who knew what her hair was doing at this point, either. She knew she looked a wreck, there was no point in hiding it. Sighing, she resigned to tell the truth.

"I'm not sleeping," she started, uneasy. Professor McGonagall, seemingly satisfied that she was not dodging the question, sat back slightly and nodded. Hermione had a quick mental image of her professor as a muggle therapist, writing on a clipboard while saying, "Continue." She did so, looking just past her professor as she did so.

"I'm tense all the time. My stomach hurts, I can't eat. I am trying to keep myself busy because if I don't I won't stop- I _can't_ stop- the thoughts from coming back to me. Everything we had to do, every time Harry and Ron and everyone I love had to put themselves in danger, every person that lost their lives fighting hurts me to think about. Every time I hear a shout, or a bang, or a- anything, it makes me jump, makes my heart race, I can't breathe. If I don't keep _doing_ something, if I close my eyes for even a second I see it all over again; the fighting, the Death Eaters, the _dead-"_

"That's enough," Professor McGonagall cut her off. Hermione blinked. She could hear a clinking sound. She looked down, and saw the teacup she was holding was shaking on its dish. Or, rather, it was her hand that was shaking. She set the dish and cup down onto the desk and rubbed her hands together, embarrassed.

Her professor leaned forward, resting her arms on the desk. "Listen to me, Hermione." It was one of the few times her professor had used her first name, and it helped her focus on what was being said. She looked into her professor's eyes. "War… it isn't over when the enemy is gone. It lives on inside us. What you're experiencing now, it's normal. You'll remember what happened during this fight. The loss, the fear, it's all a part of you." She reached over and took one of Hermione's hands in her own. "What's important now is to learn how you can live with it. How will it shape you? Who can you lean on?"

Professor McGonagall let go of her hand and gave her a minute to digest this before asking, "When are you going to find your parents?"

Hermione blinked; swallowed; held back sudden tears. She had been trying not to think of her parents. They were still in Australia, far away from the chaos. She desperately wanted to run to them, to get them back home, but she couldn't. Not yet. "Professor," she whispered, "I can't bring them back yet. It's still not safe. I can't risk them getting hurt because of me. We still have enemies out there. They'll be looking for every opportunity to get revenge. If they… if they…" her words grew thick until she couldn't speak.

Her professor stood and walked around the desk. Hermione, standing, was pulled into a sudden embrace, and the tears started flowing. How she desperately wanted this to be her Mum. How she wished beyond belief that she could go across the world this instant and repair her parents' memories! To have her Dad read to her again, to play Scrabble around the coffee table, to enjoy a cup of tea around the fire. No place to her would be more comforting to her at this moment, and it was so far from her reach. She clung to her professor until, exhausted, her tears ran dry.

Professor McGonagall pulled back slightly, still holding onto Hermione's shoulders. "Listen to me, Hermione." Her name did wonders to help her focus, she noticed. "Mister Weasley has his family, as broken as it is at the moment. Between that and his friends, he will have no lack of support to help him through anything he needs. Mister Potter is no stranger to dealing with difficult times but even he will struggle and will need to rely on others. I trust him to find it. He's always managed, before. I ask you, young lady, to do the same. And if you have trouble finding it, please know you can always come to me." She hugged her one last time before letting go. "And Hermione," she added, "Do not take long to retrieve your parents. You know that they will be protected to the best of the Ministry's abilities."

Hermione smiled gratefully at her professor. "I will remember that, Professor," she responded hoarsely. She took another sip of her tea to soothe her throat and relaxed into her chair, feeling more calm than she had in longer than she could remember.

* * *

When Hermione arrived at the Weasley's Burrow a few hours later, she was stunned.

The chaotically wonderful house-upon-house she had grown to love was now just simply chaos. Shingles dotted the small front yard and windows were shattered. Scorch marks covered the exterior, bits of the home burned away all together and covered with tarps or blankets. What she could see of the garden wall was crumbled apart and two of the five chimneys on the roof had been demolished. In everything else that had happened, Hermione forgot that The Burrow had been a target of the Death Eaters. She had a hard time swallowing past a lump in her throat.

The door was thrown open with a bang and Ron threw himself down the steps towards Hermione. With a whoop he lifted her from the ground, holding her so tightly her eyes went wide. "Ron! I can't breathe!" She wheezed. For a moment he did nothing but hold her even tighter, before he set her back on her feet once again. Giving her no time to catch her breath, his lips were on hers.

Fire exploded in her stomach as she clutched to Ron's shirt, pushing herself into the kiss. _Oh I needed this,_ she thought to herself as she realized how much she had ached for his physical touch, his mere presence. Heat spread from her cheeks down to her toes. He pulled away too soon.

"Well…" she smiled, "that didn't exactly help me breathe, Ronald." She kissed his cheek as he laughed. "But I would hold my breath every time we said hello if that's how you're going to do it."

Ron blushed. "Is that a promise? Because I don't plan on greeting you any other way from now on." He pulled her close to him once more and she rested her head against his shoulder. "I need you with me, 'Mione. Will you stay?" He looked down at her. "We can go up to Hogwarts together, the three of us. Well," he admitted, "the four of us. I don't think Ginny is going to let Harry out of her sight now that she has him in it. But the four of us, we can go up to Hogwarts and help out whenever we feel like it, just as long as we go together."

Hermione smiled and pulled away from him, as hard as it was. "Ron, that sounds great. Thank you. Now let me inside so I can say hi to everyone!" She pushed him from her gently and grabbed his hand.

Ron led her up the steps inside the house and Hermione's smile faded.

The first thing she noticed- because honestly, who _wouldn't?_ \- was the massive pile of busted up furniture to her right. The large table that had for so many years fed the family of nine was smashed in two, the legs broken off. There were couches and mattresses that had been torn and rid of their stuffing, shattered mirrors, a busted up shelving unit, burnt bedposts and clay bits littering the floor. To the left of her, in lieu of the large wooden kitchen table, was a smaller, shabby replacement surrounded by a mess of stools and patched together chairs. Resting on top of the table was the famous Weasley family clock, the glass smashed and a number of the dials bent. She could see Ron's face on his dial staring at her from across the room. She slowly approached it, saddened that such a beautiful magical item could fall to such a state, and let out a tiny gasp when she took a closer look.

One of the unbent hands, the one pointing towards the word "Lost," had turned a solid black.

"Oh, Fred," Hermione sighed. The lump in her throat returned and her breath hitched.

Ron came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Dad tried to take it off to polish it," he said quietly. "He couldn't remove it, so I guess it's… just like that now."

They stared at the clock for a few moments. Hermione reached out and lovingly touched Ron's bent dial. When she turned to look at the Ron behind her, his face was white.

"I'm so sorry…" Hermione started, but behind him someone shouted, "Hermione!"

And then she was being pulled into another tight hug, and another, and another. The Weasleys, who had just come into the kitchen from out back, surrounded her until all she could see was red and freckles.

"So glad to see you, Hermione!"

"What took you so long?"

"Let me put on a spot of tea. Are you hungry? Lunch is nearly ready."

As the table was being cleared and a seat pulled out for her, Hermione felt a surge of peace. She may not have her parents, but at least she could always count on the Weasleys to show her a family's love.

Lunch at the Weasley's was an unnaturally quiet affair until Harry walked in. The same hugs given to Hermione were thrown upon him, who smiled and returned them gladly. He took a seat next to Ginny once everyone had settled and accepted the plate Molly was already filling with food. Hermione caught his eye, and they both smiled tiredly at each other.

"Hey 'Mione, how is Snape?"

Nothing beats being greeted with a question that causes everyone to stop instantly and stare. Hermione blushed and replied, "He was stable when I left him. I hope he still is. If he stays stable today, they can move him to St Mungo's. At least, that's what Miss Clarence says." Still being the center of attention, she looked back down at her plate.

"You're watching over Professor Snape?" asked Arthur quietly, looking at her with much-too-tired eyes, as Molly started to take the used dishes to the sink.

"I sit with him when I can't sleep," she answered to her plate. "I went to the infirmary tent that first night and the healers said they could use someone to watch over him while they were busy, someone who could call them over if he started to... well, get worse."

"I'm sure that's exciting," said Charlie, standing to get more plates. "Mum, I can do the dishes; you've been going nonstop today. You should sit, eat something."

"Don't you dare insinuate I need a break, Charlie; I am perfectly capable of caring for my own family!" Mrs Weasley huffed as she took the dishes out of her son's hand. With raised eyebrows and palms held up in surrender, Charlie returned to his seat.

"Mum's been like this since we got back," muttered Ron under his breath to Hermione. "She stays busy until she can't go anymore. Last night she fell asleep while mending our clothes, and Dad had to carry her to bed."

"Hermione Granger, you barely ate a thing!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed as she came back for the rest of the lunch plates. "Should I make you something else? Soup, perhaps?"

Hermione's stomach lurched and her face blushed at being called out again. "I'm sorry Mrs Weasley," she lied, clenching her fists under the table. "I ate a late breakfast before I came. I guess I'm not that hungry."

"It's okay, Mum," Ron said, taking the plate from Hermione. "I'll eat it." _Thank you,_ Hermione mouthed when he caught her eye. He grinned and started eating.

Harry rose and touched Ginny on the shoulder. He caught Hermione and Ron's eyes and nodded towards the door. Quietly, they stood and walked outside, Ron grabbing a sandwich half as he did so.

Harry turned towards them with a small smile. "I figured we could use a walk," he explained as he led them down a well-beaten path away from the house.

The four of them walked down the dirt path to the field nearby. Tall grass and wildflowers danced in the breeze as the sun warmed their skin. Harry leaned against an old wooden fence, his forearms resting on the top plank. The others joined him, Ginny jumping up to sit atop the fence. Their faces turned towards the sun as the serene nature around them filled them with peace.

Ron broke the silence. "Remember when we were camping, and we saw that deer family?"

"Yeah," Harry smiled. "They were drinking from that creek." He looked up at Ginny. "We were all outside. It was Ron's turn to wear the locket, and I was trying to distract him by quizzing him on spells. Hermione was in the doorway of the tent, reading."

"As she always was," joked Ron.

"Well one of us had to do some damn research," she scoffed, eliciting a chuckle from the group.

"What happened with the deer family?" asked Ginny, rubbing Harry's back.

"Not much. But the mother led the two fauns out by the creek and they spent a while there, drinking. After a while the fauns curled down and rested. The mother wandered away for a while."

"I remember how bad that necklace was making me feel that day." Ron shuddered. "And then those deer walked by. Watching them... made the bad feeling go away for a while."

Hermione leaned against him and closed her eyes. She remembered that day, too. "We all watched over the fauns together. We talked to them. They couldn't hear us, but it helped."

"Didn't we name them?" asked Harry.

"Chester and Boing Boing," Ron answered fondly.

" _Boing Boing?_ " asked Ginny, laughing.

"Aren't you the one who named Pigwidgeon?" Ron shot back with a glare.

Ginny reached over and smacked the back of her brother's head. "Pig is honored to have such a glorious name!"

"Well Boing Boing bounced when he walked!"

"Wait a minute," Hermione interrupted. "What's that noise?"

"And what's that coming at us?" said Harry, reaching for his wand.

Across the field streaked a small orange animal, yowling over and over again.

"Wait!" Hermione yelled, jumping the fence and running towards the creature, the other three following quickly. She knew what that yowl meant and her heart soared. Falling to the ground, she braced herself as Crookshanks threw his mass into her arms, nuzzling his head against her chin and purring so loud she felt it in her chest. Tears formed in her eyes as she crooned to the pet she missed so much over the past year. Her friends clamored around her, exclaiming, but she didn't hear them. She had a piece of her family back, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

"I'm so glad that cat made his way back to you, Hermione," remarked Mrs Weasley as the family gathered around the living room. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were sitting around the fireplace on enlarged cushions, Hermione going through Crookshanks' fur and dislodging mats and burrs. "I was just so upset that we had to leave without him. I knew how much he meant to you. We had no idea where he could have gone!"

Hermione scratched her cat's ear lovingly as she replied, "He takes care of himself very well. Don't you, Crooks? You're such a brave boy for surviving by yourself all this time!"

"That he is," crooned Ron, mimicking her loving tone. He sat directly behind her, hands on her shoulders and when she turned to reprimand her he planted a quick kiss upon her lips. She blushed, mollified, and turned back to her cat.

Crookshanks soon decided he'd had enough of Hermione's tugging and grooming and stood to saunter off to the kitchen. Throwing the burrs and mats she had collected from him into the fire, she leaned against Ron's chest and looked around her.

Across from her, Harry sat with Ginny's head in his lap, fingers running through her hair. Her eyes were closed, seemingly asleep, but Hermione saw the way her hand clasped his leg as if she were afraid he would leave her side. Bill and Charlie had returned home, and Hermione still had not seen George, but Percy sat in the corner in a repaired armchair with a book in his lap, staring at the pages but not reading it. She noticed how tired he looked, and how his freckles stood out on his pale skin.

Mr and Mrs Weasley sat on a patched up couch, looking through an old photo album that had been ripped apart. Mrs Weasley's eyes swam with tears as she held a black and white photo in her fingers. As Hermione watched, Mr Weasley slowly removed the photo from her fingers and whispered something in her ear. She nodded, stood, and walked off.

Mr Weasley sighed and placed the photo lovingly back onto its page. Hermione noticed how worn he looked. His eyes had dark bags under them and his clothes were wrinkled, as if he had slept in them.

Without a word he stood and left the room, following his wife.

"What-" Ron turned, his head following his father.

Ginny's eyes opened softly and she muttered, "They're probably going to check on George. They do that whenever they start thinking too much about Fred."

Percy started and dropped his book. The four of them turned to look at him. His eyes were wide.

"Hey Perce," said Ron, "Are you doing okay?"

Percy adjusted his glasses and bent to pick up the book from the ground. Standing, he cleared his throat and muttered, "No need to worry, I just fell asleep, is all." Walking towards the stairs he called back, "I'm tired. Good night."

The group looked at each other, eyes wide. Harry looked at Ron and asked, "Is he okay?"

Ron shook his head. "He hasn't said much, but you can tell he is taking Fred's death really hard. I mean," he added, scratching his neck. "We were all there- sorry, Ginny- but Percy was the one _right next_ to him when he- when it happened."

"And Percy already has a lot of guilt for abandoning the family in the first place," Ginny whispered. Harry rubbed her shoulder and she turned her face towards him gratefully, tears threatening to spill over. Talking about Fred was hard for them all.

"Let's go to bed," he suggested to her, and she nodded. They rose, leaving Hermione and Ron alone.

Ron tried to stifle a yawn but Hermione said, "Why don't you go lay down, too? You look exhausted."

He pulled a spiral curl from her head and let it bounce. "Only if you come with me," he mumbled through another yawn.

She shook her head and summoned her handbag to her. "I want to get some reading done, now that it's quiet," she said. "I won't be long. I'll come up in a bit." _If I'm lucky,_ she added to herself.

Nodding, he kissed her again, and then stood. "I'll miss you," he whined as he left the room.

She smiled after him. Being with Ron and Harry had seemed so familiar and even Ginny fit in quite well. But after so many months of it being just the three of them, it was tolling on her to be around so many people now. She needed some time to herself to recharge.

She had her opportunity. She knew she should try to sleep. Being with Ron, it might be easy now. But she couldn't bring herself to waste this precious quiet time. Crookshanks came sauntering back into the room and threw himself across her feet. She wiggled her toes slightly, smiling, and then settled back into the cushions to read.

A few hours later the fire had died down enough that Hermione resorted to wandlight to read. She had pulled a second book out of her bag and was a few chapters in. Her eyes kept going out of focus, but she blinked until they cleared and she was able to continue. She yawned, and grudgingly decided that bed might be a good idea.

As she was putting her things away, she heard footsteps descending the staircase. Book in one hand and wand in the other, she aimed the beam of light to the doorway as Mrs Weasley stepped into the room, robe tightly clasped around her body.

"Hermione?" she squinted at the light facing her, and Hermione quickly diverted her wand to the side. "It's 3 in the morning, what are you still doing down here?" Her eyes drifted to the book being clasped to Hermione's chest, and her face turned frosty.

"Why are you reading that book?" Mrs Weasley asked warily.

Hermione looked down at the offending book in her hands. Twin children held their hands together, one solid and one vaporous. The title, _Struggling Through a Child's Death_ , gave more away than Hermione had hoped. She cringed.

"Mrs Weasley," she explained, "I'm just trying to find out-"

"Why Fred hasn't appeared yet," finished Mrs Weasley roughly. Hermione frowned. "You don't think I haven't been wondering that too?"

"Er- do you…" Hermione started.

"Sit down."

Surprised, Hermione sat on the couch. Mrs Weasley summoned a kitchen chair, sat in front of her, and said, "As you are muggle born you aren't familiar with many things that are common knowledge to the rest of us, so let me catch you up." Hermione's stomach knotted uncomfortably. "When Fred…" she started with a sigh, before shaking her head and restarting. "When a twin dies, he should have the opportunity to reveal himself to the living sibling immediately. But sometimes- and there could be many reasons-the twin soul takes a while to show. Some believe it is the soul's choice to wait, some believe other factors are involved, but not enough research has been done to say one way or the other. Either way, we living are forced to wait until it happens."

"But," Hermione interrupted, "Why not just ask the souls when they appear?"

"Once they do appear, the souls remember nothing about the time between their passing and their arrival. Some speculate that they're in a state we know nothing about, where they at the same time exist and don't exist."

"The muggles have something like that," Hermione said. "Schrödinger's cat. Neither alive nor dead until you open the box to see." She rubbed her lip in thought as she took this all in. "Do you have any idea what could be keeping Fred away?" she asked, looking up into Mrs Weasley's saddened eyes. Cringing at her insensitivity, she added, "I'm sorry, I have no right to ask you these questions."

Shaking her head, Mrs Weasley just said, "It could be anything, Hermione. I fear- ah, but that doesn't matter." She looked into Hermione's eyes sternly. "You won't find your answer in a book this time, dear. I ask that you leave it alone. For my family's sake."

"But Mrs Weasley," she argued, "aren't you anxious to see him again?"

Hermione knew she said something she shouldn't when Mrs Weasley stood abruptly and glowered down at her. "Of course I want to see him again, you silly girl!" she huffed. "But don't you understand? He's still going to be _dead!_ "

Hermione winced and stood as well. "I know, I'm sorry, Mrs Weasley," she apologized quickly. "I only thought-"

"You didn't think." Mrs Weasley sighed. "But then again, you aren't a mother. You're just a child." Her eyes took a softer tone when she looked at Hermione's face again. "One day, my dear, you will understand that the greatest sadness a mother can bear is being cut from their child too soon. Yes, I want to see my son again. But it doesn't change the fact that he will never find a wife, never bear children. He will never grow old." She took a deep breath, her voice beginning to shake. "And that breaks my heart." Hermione felt terrible sadness fill the room and choked on her regret.

"Mum."

The women jumped at the voice from the hall. Neither of them had heard anyone else out of bed, but when they looked, they saw George, wrapped in an orange blanket that clashed with his hair, leaning against the doorway.

Hermione had not seen George since the battle, and he had changed so much already. It was obvious he had been crying, judging from the red puffiness around his eyes. His hair was tousled and clothes wrinkled as if he had been laying in them for quite a while. If Percy was white, George was transparent, his freckles garish blots across his face. Worse was the way he held himself, in such a way that it looked as if a gentle breeze could shatter him to pieces. Hermione's heart hurt at how broken this man looked.

Mrs Weasley rushed over to her grieving son and asked, "George, dear, what is it? What is the matter?"

George's eyes emitted such a profound pain as he looked at his mother, and whispered, "I can't- the room- I can't stay in that room any longer." Shuddering, he added, "Every time I wake up I think… that he's just in the loo and he'll be walking in, or-"

Mrs Weasley grabbed him in her arms with a teary hush. Hermione grabbed her things quietly and made to leave the room. This didn't feel like a moment she needed to be partial to. She wasn't in much mood to continue putting her foot in her mouth in the worst of ways, either.

As she walked up the stairs to Ron's room, she heard something that broke her heart even more and assured her that sleep would not be in her sights tonight. George, his voice shaking, asked, "Why hasn't he come back yet?"

A/N: So that last scene was a real piece of work to get out. I rewrote it three or four times. I apologize if it doesn't flow that well. And don't worry, we'll be getting back to Snape soon!

A/N 2: Fixing scene break.


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

 _The walls of Hogwarts crumbled around her as she ran, lights reflecting off the rubble as spells shot off from every direction. Her feet stumbled over stones as she dodged left and right, trying to make it to the end of the hall, that was her goal, if she could make it to the end of the hall everything would be alright-_

 _The windows ahead of her shattered in all directions as a giant smashed his fist through and reached for her. She launched herself to the far wall and scampered away on all fours, jumping to her feet as soon as she had made it past. She could see where the hall turned, knew if she could make it there everything would be fine. She was nearly there when a door to her right splintered violently, showering her with shards of oak. A masked man loomed over her, terrible in black robes and sunken eyes. She raised her wand and screamed out a stunning spell._

 _Her feet couldn't go fast enough. It felt like she would never reach the end of the hall when at last, throwing herself around the corner, she was safe-_

 _No. Not safe. Never safe._

 _Not with her there._

 _Bellatrix Lestrange, all black robes and crazy eyes and mess of hair, stood before her. Her head was thrown back into a laugh, her wand raised, and Hermione felt a quick jolt of panic and fear surge through her body before-_

 _"CRUCIO!"_

Hermione woke with a start, sticky with cold sweat. Her breath came in gasps and her body shook. Throwing herself off of the cot she slept on she crawled over to the trash can in the corner of the room and heaved.

A pair of hands grabbed her hair and held it gently behind her head as she sobbed and shook, clutching the plastic can. Her stomach had nothing to lose, but the tremors still came, over and over and over. After a while, spitting bile into the trash can, she fell back against the person behind her, who held her as she cried.

When she was able to catch her breath she looked up into Ron's eyes and whispered, "It hurt so much... the curse... that evil woman-"

Ron held her tighter and rubbed her back. "She can't hurt you anymore, Hermione. We're here, we're not going to let it happen again."

She looked around and saw Harry and Ginny kneeling next to her, looking worried. There wasn't much light but she was able to recognize Ron's room around them. The ghoul had done an incredible job of keeping the Death Eaters from destroying it- it looked just as it had before they left. The familiarity of the room with its obnoxious orange and busy posters gave Hermione a kind of peace and she exhaled shakily, her body beginning to relax.

Harry was staring at her closely when she met his eyes. "This is why you can't sleep." It wasn't a question. She nodded anyway. "Is it always the same dream?"

Hermione swallowed and sat up from Ron's embrace. His arms fell limply away from her and for a moment she felt a sudden loss. She looked up into her friend's eyes and shook her head. "It's not... always the same. But it always ends the same. With... With her..."

Hermione had to shake herself from the thought before the memory of the pain swallowed her up again.

"It's a good thing Mum took care of that bitch, then, isn't it?" Ginny said, smiling gently. Hermione exhaled in a puff, and managed- just barely- to return the smile.

"Speaking of Mum," Ron added, "Let's get downstairs. I want to try to get into the kitchen before her."

"Why, so she can yell at you, too?" grumbled Ginny as she rose to her feet. "I swear she's going to work herself sick."

"I'll take the punishment," he countered. "She shouldn't be doing everything. If I see her fall asleep in the middle of something again I'm going to personally force-feed her a potion of dreamless sleep and lock her in her room."

Hermione looked out the small window. The horizon had just begun to lighten- she guessed she had been asleep for a couple hours, if that. Feeling a headache coming on and still quite shaken, she allowed Ron to take her hand and lead her out of the room.

As soon as they reached the downstairs landing they could already hear Mrs Weasley bustling around, muttering to herself. A soft, rhythmic _shnk-shnk-shnk_ sound accompanied her mutterings. Ginny and Ron shared a concerned look and entered the kitchen together, leaving Harry and Hermione in the hall.

"Mum," said Ginny, surprised, "Exactly how many potatoes do you need to peel at four-thirty in the morning?"

Mrs Weasley almost dropped her potato peeler as she jumped and spun around. "What on earth are you doing out of bed?" she chastised, pointing with a half-peeled potato. To the left of her was a massive pile of lumpy brown potatoes and the sink, from what little they could see, held fresh-peeled white ones. Ron approached the sink and looked inside.

"What are we making this morning, Mum? I mean, besides the crisps, hash browns, and tots."

"Get out of my kitchen, each one of you, and go back to bed!" she huffed in response, shooing him away.

"You go on ahead of us," bargained Ginny, reaching for the peeler. "We can finish up."

"Don't you dare, Ginevra Weasley!" she snapped as she pulled her hands back.

Harry and Hermione stood in the doorway, and she could feel her friend getting tense as the Weasleys argued. "This isn't healthy," he muttered under his breath.

"No," she agreed, "but everyone handles grief a bit differently." She glanced over; he was shaking his head.

"Haven't you noticed, Hermione? She's not letting herself feel anything! She can't keep going on like that." And without another word he strode forward.

Walking past Ginny and Ron, Harry went right up to Mrs Weasley. She was so surprised that when he reached for the potato and peeler from her hands, she let him take them. He put the things aside, took her hands, and said softly, "I'm sorry. I miss him, too."

When Mrs Weasley started to pull back and say something, Harry clutched her hands tighter and shook his head. "I get it. You want to keep busy. Keeping busy is easier than having a moment to think about things. _I get it_. And if I could fix things so that you wouldn't have to feel this way I would do it in a heartbeat. This is the last thing I wanted anyone to go through!"

Ron stepped in as his mother started to interrupt again. "Mum, please, we just want to help. We want to stay busy, too."

Ginny nodded. "Let's work together, Mum- we're stronger together."

From her angle Hermione couldn't see much, but she could hear Mrs Weasley's choked voice say something unintelligible. Moments afterwards, Harry was being hugged tightly as Mrs Weasley cried against him. She could see Harry's shoulders start to shake. Mrs Weasley pulled back from Harry to hug her children in turn, each of them holding on tightly, and as Hermione finally stepped into the room to join her friends, she found it hard to breathe behind the lump in her throat.

* * *

Finally, _finally_ , it was time to go back to Hogwarts. The sun had risen sometime between the emotional downpour and the rest of the Weasley family coming downstairs. Together, in one chaotic mess, everyone pitched in to make the largest breakfast they had seen in months- and yes, it heavily featured potatoes. Mrs Weasley went between suggesting cooking techniques and crying over each person in the kitchen in turn, proclaiming her love for them all and thanking them for their help. The table was set, the food dished out, and everyone enjoyed the cathartic comfort breakfast they all had pitched in to make- even Hermione was able to stomach some of the potato cakes.

And now it was time to go back to Hogwarts.

Her toes tingled as she stood outside, waiting for her friends. She swore she'd wait until they could go back together, but something inside of her was anxious to check up in the infirmary tent and she was ready to leave them all behind if they didn't hurry themselves up. It didn't take much longer for her friends to make their way down the steps towards her and soon they were apparating, Ginny along with them.

The apparition point was no longer at the castle gates. With the wards down, people could apparate in and out as they wished. When they arrived, they found themselves standing in front of the castle steps. Hermione was surprised with the progress made over the day they had been gone.

The piles of rubble were no longer speckled across the grounds- they had been smashed and removed and left the landscape looking more expansive than ever. The field of tents that had once spanned across the grass had been reduced to a speckling here and there. A large canopy stood a quarter mile from the steps and under it gathered a large crowd. Hermione noticed the infirmary tent in its usual place and had to stop herself from running towards it.

"Wow," exclaimed Ron. "They sure were busy."

"Magic, am I right?" grinned Harry. "This place looks great! It's hard to tell there was a battle here less than a week ago."

"Aside from the giant holes in the giant castle," Ginny remarked sarcastically. Ron laughed.

"Who do you think is down there?" Hermione asked, pointing to the canopy.

"One way to find out," said Harry, walking in that direction.

"I think-" Hermione paused. "I would really like to check in on the infirmary tent-"

"Already?" Ron started, staring at her in slight disbelief. "Can't it wait?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's just that I really feel like I should go check in. See if they need any help." At Ron's sigh, she kissed his cheek. "You can come with, if you'd like."

Harry looked over at the crowd under the canvas and said, "I guess we can wait to see what that's about. And I'd like to go check in on Snape."

Ron rolled his eyes and started walking towards the tent. "Fine, but let's make this quick, alright?" he grumbled. "I don't particularly want to play 'bedside manner' with the Dungeon Bat."

Hermione bit down a small ball of irritation as she followed Ron's back into the tent.

So many beds lay empty! Hermione was amazed at how many patients had been able to move on. Now only three remained. And as she walked towards one, she smiled. He was looking quite a bit better, her professor. And Miss Clarence had kept her word- his face was shaved smooth. Color had come back to his cheeks, and the bandages around his neck were replaced by a large gauze pad. Hermione felt a sort of calmness spread through her as she sat in her usual chair, and turned to her friends.

"Doesn't he seem so much better? I'm so relieved. He still looked pretty awful when I left him. I'm glad Miss Clarence was able to shave his face. You should have seen how different he looked!"

Ron laughed as he put his hands on her shoulders. "You talk about him like he's your puppy, 'Mione." She frowned up at him.

"I'm just happy he's doing better, Ron." She watched as Harry slowly walked over to his professor's side. "Isn't it great, Harry? You'll get to talk to him."

"Yeah," said Harry uncertainly, "if he even wants to talk."

"Which is unlikely, seeing as he's probably still a git." Ron caught Hermione's reprimanding glare and looked down at her, surprised. "What, you really think he's going to be different when he wakes up?"

Hermione chewed her lip, eyeing the man laying in front of her. She didn't have anything to say to that.

Ginny spoke up for the first time. "People don't usually come out of a near-death experience unchanged, Ron. He'll probably still hate us, but he'll be different."

Harry turned to her. "You think he will? Hate us?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Ron scoffed. "It's not like _he_ saw _our_ super emotional memories that made him change _his_ opinion on us."

"Ron," sighed Hermione, exasperated, "could you be a little less negative?"

"I prefer to think of myself as a realist."

"Well _I_ prefer to think-"

"Hello there, super wizard saviors!" greeted Miss Clarence loudly as she came into the tent, throwing the tent flaps aside.

Everyone jumped, which made Miss Clarence smile. "I'm glad you made it back safely!" she exclaimed. "Professor Snape is about to move to St Mungo's. Isn't it great? They deemed him fit a few hours ago!"

Hermione's eyes grew large as she turned to look at her professor in the bed. "He's stable enough to be moved? When?"

"Very shortly. I'm here to prep him for his journey," she replied with a wink. "I'll send you an update once he's settled, though, don't you worry."

"Why do you need an update?" Ron asked. "We'll know if he gets out of St Mungo's."

Before she could reply, Miss Clarence answered for her. "Hermione here has put a lot of effort into making sure this old bat lives and I'm sure she'd love to hear when all that hard work has paid off, am I right?" She moved around the crowd. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get this show on the road!"

Silence fell as they exited the tent, Hermione fighting down her frustration with Ron's negativity as best she could. He had completely ruined her visit! She had been so happy to see how improved Professor Snape had looked, and hoped her friends could see how wonderful it was, but that had been short lived once 'Mr Realist' shared his two cents.

As they walked the stretch to the canopy where the crowd still stood, Ron turned to her. "Are you okay? You got really worked up in there."

"Gee, Ron, you think?" she spat. His eyes widened. "Professor Snape has sacrificed so much for the Order, and you're acting like he's nothing but a terror in a classroom!"

"Hermione, he _is_ a terror in a classroom," he argued. "His spying doesn't change the fact that he made us miserable for years! Or have you forgotten how little he respected your hard work? Or that comment about your teeth, like he has any room to talk!"

"Did it ever occur to you that he _had_ to act that way with Lucius Malfoy's son in the room?" Hermione countered. The rest of the group stopped short.

"She's got you there," said Ginny. "It does make sense."

"Oh, now you're Team Snape, too?"

"Ron, would you listen to yourself?" Ginny continued. "Why are you so worked up about Snape?"

Ron looked at Harry. "Please tell me you haven't forgotten all the shit we went through because of him."

Harry shook his head. "Oh I remember. I still don't really like him. He hated me before I came to Hogwarts and he let me know whenever he could. He was incredibly brave, sure, and he was selfless at times and very loyal- to my Mum, at least. None of that means I have to forgive him. But I think Hermione has a point. He probably had to act more terrible than he felt in order to make sure his cover wasn't blown."

Ron thought about it for a minute before replying, "There's a big hole in your theory, Hermione. You Know Who didn't come back until the end of our fourth year. Snape hated us from the get go."

Hermione shook her head. "Dumbledore never believed Voldemort was gone for good. I'm sure he told Professor Snape to act as if he had never left."

Rolling his eyes, Ron started moving forward again. "This is exhausting. Can't a guy just hate on another guy without all these shades of grey?"

They had reached the canopy. In the shade underneath was an incredibly long wooden table with lengthy rolls of parchment spread out upon it. Surrounding the table was Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Slughorn as well as a handful of people Hermione did not know, but she recognized the Ministry of Magic pins upon their robes.

Professor McGonagall stopped talking as they approached. "Ah, I was wondering when you four would return," she said in a sort of greeting. "Come, come, I have need of your troublesome ways."

As they approached she gestured to the parchments on the table. "These are the Hogwarts blueprints. As I'm sure you're aware, they fail to include many secret areas such as the Chamber of Secrets-" she twitched noticeably at that, as did Ginny- "or other places of interest that I'm sure you four have unearthed in your time here. We're here trying to make a complete plan for rebuilding, and we would like to keep as much of the rebuild as historically accurate as we can- which includes any secrets that may have been destroyed. We would like you to share anything you might know."

Harry's face parted in an incredibly large grin. Hermione saw a twinkle in his eye as he glanced her way and had a feeling she knew exactly what he was about to offer up. "Professor," he said, "you don't need us, you need the Marauders." He turned to her with a grin. "Hermione?"

Hermione opened her endless bag and Harry pointed his wand into it. "Accio Marauder's Map!" he summoned. With a rush, the folded up parchment rushed into his open hand.

Professor McGonagall arched her eyebrow as Harry cleared space on the table. "Mr Potter, what are you on about?"

"Just watch, Professor," he smiled at her. He placed the tip of his wand onto the blank map. "I solemly swear that I am up to no good!"

Everyone gathered around the table leaned closer for a better look. The lines started to form on the map, twisting out from the center where Harry's wand point still rested. Someone gasped as the lines started to make a perfect blueprint of the castle circa 1970s. Professor Flitwick fell off the vegetable crate he had been using as a stepstool with a squeak. Righting himself, he grabbed the crate and carried it over so as to stand next to Harry and the map. Sliding it closer to himself, he started muttering phrases such as "What a wonder!" and "Genius, pure genius!" Professor McGonagall leaned over and read out loud, "Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs... Potter, who are these 'Marauders?'"

"My dad and his friends," he explained. "My dad was Prongs, Remus Lupin was Moony, Sirius Black was Padfoot-"

"Sirius Black helped make this?" asked a Ministry official, leaning in for a closer look.

"And that would leave Peter Pettigrew as Wormtail?" asked McGonagall. Harry nodded.

"This map shows more about Hogwarts than we could have ever found," he continued.

"This is exactly what I need, Minerva," said another official, jotting down notes with ink-smudged fingers as he referenced the map.

"Mr Potter, please meet the architect for this project, Mr Septon Styles."

Harry shook hands with Mr Styles, a tall, thin man about twenty years Harry's senior. "Mr Potter, please allow me to use your map on this project. It would help immensely."

"Absolutely," said Harry, smiling.

"Harry," Hermione interrupted, looking closer over the map. "The dots... They're acting weird."

Where just a moment ago the map was accurately portraying the dots for every person on the grounds, now they had begun flickering and darting about to random rooms and corners. As Harry pulled the map towards him with a frown, a barn owl flew towards Professor McGonagall and dropped a letter at her feet.

She bent to pick it up, and stood with a frustrated growl. "I'm not a bloody postwoman!" she shouted at the owl's retreating form as she shoved the letter towards Hermione. "Those owls need to sort their mess out or I'm switching the whole of Hogwarts to carrier pigeon!"

Hermione took the letter quickly, and glanced at the unfamiliar scrawl on the front that simply read, _Hermione Granger, Hogwarts_. She broke the seal and read.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _Our Professor Snape is safe and secure in Floor 1, Room 309. I have alerted the healers that you may wish to stop by, so in case you feel like a visit, they know to expect you. It was a joy to work with you and I hope that we see each other soon!_

 _With love,_

 _Miss Casiana Clarence._

Pocketing the letter, she looked up to see Professor Flitwick chuckling at Professor McGonagall's outburst. "You'll have to give it time, Minerva. You know as well as I that the magic hasn't dispersed yet."

"The magic hasn't what?" she asked, then blushed as many eyes focused on her. "Er, sorry," she apologized, "I just...". Professor Flitwick smiled.

"No worries, Miss Granger," he assured her as he turned around and leaned against the table to address the four young wizards. "Warding magic isn't something we cover in depth until seventh year so the mechanics of that particular charmwork on such a large scale would be unfamiliar to you."

Hermione felt the familiar tug in her stomach, that excitement only new knowledge could bring forth. She glanced at her friends, and noticed that while not as enthralled with the impromptu lesson as she was, they were all focusing on their small Professor with curiosity. Ron had even begun rubbing his fingers with his thumb, a habit he had when he was concentrating on classwork. She wondered if he even knew he did that. Smiling inwardly, she turned back to Professor Flitwick.

The others around the table turned back to their work around the maps, excluding Professor McGonagall, as he continued his explanation. Gesturing to the grounds around them, he continued, "Hogwarts, until very recently, has been protected with many different wards that have been added and layered in a magical tapestry over centuries. Wardings of this caliber are difficult to maintain and harder to work with. When one starts a ward, the magic is growing, flowing with the need of the caster- or, in many cases for such a large and important area, many casters- and is thus easier to mold into its intended form. However once a ward is set, it becomes more rigid, less malleable and set in its ways. A highly talented charms master could add to a set ward, blending their own protections into the landscape of spells, seamlessly building upon the-"

Professor McGonagall coughed indiscreetly. Sheepishly, Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. "Ah, but, I digress..." Hermione, enraptured in his lecture, let out her breath in a disappointed huff; Ginny snorted. "Nevertheless," he continued, "when wards of this level are broken, the tapestry of spells doesn't just unravel, it shatters. The massive amounts of excessive magic explode outward, and in time will settle over the grounds. Magic of this magnitude takes time to disperse. Your map," he turned to gesture at the Marauder's Map "and the owl delivering Miss Granger's letter are just two such examples of what can happen when magic dispersal comes in contact with other sources of magic."

And suddenly, Hermione understood why Neville and Luna had lost control of that large boulder during clean-up, and why Miss Clarence's spell hadn't worked to calm Professor Snape's seizure. Other instances played forth in her mind as well, ones she hadn't even thought to notice as odd. And one particularly strong idea started to form inside her head.

"Fred!" she shouted, interrupting Ron's question to their Professor. Spinning towards her friends, her eyes wide with excitement, she said, "This is it! Do you see? This is the answer!"

Harry's face lit up with understanding. Ron and Ginny looked at each other in trepidation as Hermione spun back towards Professor Flitwick, her excitement barely contained. She had solved it, she was sure of it! "Professor," she started, "If a twin loses his life in a collapsed ward, could it affect the soul's ability to reveal itself to the living twin?"

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick shared a grieved look between the two of them. "Minerva," Professor Flitwick said, "I do believe we have overlooked something important."

Straightening her hat, Professor McGonagall nodded. "I will go speak with Mr and Mrs Weasley at once." She turned to Hermione. "Always a clever witch, you are. I thank you for bringing this to our attention."

"Hang on," said Ron, stopping Professor McGonagall as she headed towards the grounds. "Alert my parents to what? What about Fred?"

She smiled kindly. "Mr Weasley, Miss Weasley," she addressed them both, "Fred has not revealed himself to your brother yet because his soul is lost in all of the latent magic. In time, the magic will disperse, and Fred will be able to find his second half."

The effect their Professor's words had on Ron and Ginny was instantaneous. Ginny took in a sharp breath, Ron's hands started to shake, and as Professor McGonagall exited the canopy they turned towards each other and embraced tightly. Hermione, overwhelmed with the shock of solving a mystery so suddenly, stared after her. Harry nudged her side and when she looked into his smiling eyes he put his arm around her shoulders. "Fred!" she breathed, grinning, and he nodded. "Fred," he agreed.

"Let's go see Mum and Dad and George," Ginny said through the tears of relief spilling from her eyes. Ron nodded and turned towards Harry and Hermione, but before they could go anywhere Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.

"Miss Granger, I would like a word, if you may. Please stay behind a moment."

Looking back at her friends, she nodded. "Go on ahead," she assured them. "I'll meet up with you in a bit."

A few minutes later Hermione found herself sitting in Professor Flitwick's personal tent. Similar in size to Professor McGonagall's but much less organized (and much more blue), Professor Flitwick had piles of books and papers scattered around every corner. His tent was lit by beautiful hovering orbs that pulsed in a way that made Hermione feel she was underwater. As he searched a nearby pile he hovered a teapot over to her and said, "sit, please, and help yourself to tea."

The low wooden chair she sunk herself into had to have been spelled for comfort because no chair this rigid should wrap around her so softly. Tea in hand she closed her eyes and rested her head back. She was so very, very tired and this tent was very, very soothing.

"Aha!" Professor Flitwick jumped up and walked over to Hermione as she opened her eyes and sat up straighter. Sitting across from her at his desk, he shuffled scrolls around so that there was a clear path between them and set the book down in front of him. "I have a proposition to ask of you, Miss Granger," he said, weaving his fingers together and looking over at her expectantly. "I'm rather glad we had our impromptu lesson earlier, for my proposition is related. Once the extant magic is dispersed and enough of Hogwarts is repaired we will need to build the new wards before the school can open its doors again. As I had stated earlier, in a large and important area such as this, numerous witches and wizards will work together to achieve this goal. Thus, I am starting a Task Force, if you will, comprised of individuals whose charm work exceeds expectations. I'm sure you've already figured out, Miss Granger," he smiled at her, "that this is my official request for you to join my team." He handed her the book.

Hermione took a moment to enjoy the excitement she felt at a new, exciting project in her future. Looking over the book cover- _Protecting What Matters: Everything You Need To Know About Wards_ \- her fatigue melted away and she smiled at Professor Flitwick. "I would love to join your team!" she exclaimed, hugging the book to her chest. "When do we start? Is this the only book you have on wards? Is there anything I need to do beforehand?"

Professor Flitwick held up a hand and fought a losing battle with a grin. "The wards will be the last bit of renovation. You have the whole of the Hogwarts Library at your hands, but I do believe that this book with give you all you need to know for this task. And no, you don't need to prepare in any way. I will owl you for the first meeting, so until then read the book." He stood and charmed the tent flap open. "That is all I wanted to ask. You are free to go. And thank you again for joining up with me."

Hermione stood outside Professor Flitwick's tent, clutching the warding book and grinning like a fool. She had been terrified to think that after the infirmary tent was no longer a necessity, she would have nothing to occupy her time with. But now, with this new project looming in front of her, she felt confident that her spare time would be spent in productive distraction. Sighing happily, she safely stored the book in her bag.

Her hand touched the letter from Miss Clarence and her thoughts returned to Professor Snape. When they had been in the infirmary tent earlier she had noticed how improved he had looked, and that should be good enough for her, but still she felt drawn to his bedside. Would it be the same at St Mungo's, her visits? Would she feel just as peaceful there as she did in the tent? Was it his presence that calmed her, or was it all circumstantial? After all, in the infirmary tent she was busy monitoring and assisting in his care. At St Mungo's those services would no longer be needed. She would truly be just a guest, sitting at his bedside.

And yet the more she considered what to do, the more she realized how little she wanted to do anything else. She knew she was expected at the Burrow, but the thought of walking into that emotional home made her chest tight. _Anyway_ , she thought to herself, _sitting by Professor Snape will give me a chance to start reading up on wards_. That thought gave her the courage to decide on a trip to the hospital.

A quick spin and a few choice words to a mannequin and Hermione found herself in a polished foyer facing a reception desk. The witch at the desk waved her closer and smiled. "Welcome to St Mungo's!" she greeted. "What brings you here today?"

Glancing down at the letter in her hand, Hermione replied, "I'm here to visit a patient on floor 1, room 309. Is he ready for visitors?"

"Name, dear?" the witch asked as she started flipping through a large book.

"Snape. Pro-erm, Severus Snape." The woman looked over her glasses amusedly at Hermione, who felt herself blush.

"Former student, eh? Yes, Professor Snape is settled in his room now. Just through those double doors on my left, dear, up the stairs and down the hall. Enjoy your visit and have a nice day!" The witch turned to address a man to Hermione's left who seemed to be holding his ear in a box. Hermione thought it best not to dawdle.

When she ascended the stairs her heart began to beat faster. A certain trepidation came over her as she walked down the hall, glancing at the small silver squares on the doors: 297, 299, 301... She began to feel very out of place and frankly quite silly, visiting this man. What right did she have to just stop by barely an hour after he had been settled? Who was she to push herself upon him? _I don't even have any flowers to leave_ , she thought with a nervous laugh.

And then she was standing there, at the corner of two halls, staring at door 309. Professor Snape was mere feet away. Self consciously she brushed her clothes clean and straight, shook her hair over her shoulders and raised a hand. She couldn't bring herself to push the door open.

"Come on, Hermione," she muttered to herself. "You're a Gryffindor for crying out loud." The door felt cool to the touch as she placed her hand solidly against it, and yet it took a few more deep breaths before she managed to push it aside and step over the threshold.

The room was comfortably lit, with the bed against the right wall and a large end table next to it. A window let in warm natural light behind thin curtains and to the left of the door was a small table and comfortable chairs. In the far corner another door led to what Hermione could only imagine to be a bathroom. It was the most peaceful hospital room she had ever seen. Standing straighter, Hermione finally turned to look at her professor.

Though he looked much the same as he did in the infirmary tent, Professor Snape seemed more peaceful in a room by himself. In the natural light from the window, his striking features seemed less dramatic. The bedclothes he was wearing seemed softer and his breathing seemed stronger, steadier. And most comforting, to Hermione at least, she didn't feel at all out of place anymore.

Whenever she had shown up for work at the infirmary tent she began by checking his status. Here, the hospital had ways of monitoring that, so Hermione had very little she needed to do. She walked over to the window and opened the curtains farther to let in more light. She adjusted the water pitcher on the end table so that it was more centered. She charmed one of the chairs over to his bedside much like she was used to and sat down. She decided that the room was now too bright for a Potions Master and stood to close the curtains once more. She sat again, patting her knees awkwardly as she looked around. Yes, the room was probably fine. She should get to reading.

Hermione reached down by her feet and pulled the warding book out of her bag. The chair was large enough for her to pull her legs up and she rested the book on her knees, skimming the chapter titles. Every few pages she would glance up at Professor Snape, and before long she had given up on the book and tucked it by her side. For many minutes she sat with her arms wrapped around her legs, breathing in and out, sinking farther into the chair as her eyelids grew heavier. Something about being at his side... She stifled a yawn. He made her feel like she could sleep.

* * *

 _For the longest time there was nothing._

 _It was odd how once he had started to sense things, only then did he realize how little there was in those first long moments. Were they even truly moments, or were they days, months- years, even? Time had no meaning in this place._

 _The first thing he began to notice was the pain, because of course it would be the pain. Hot, fiery venom flowing through his veins, burning him from the inside with each pulse of his heart. His blasted heart, that refused to stop beating._

 _It took time, but soon the pain lessened. With its absence he picked up on other sensations. A touch. A whisper. Softness. He could never pick up too much- it would be a stretch to say he comprehended any of this in a reasonable sense. Mostly he just existed in a haze of darkness and blurs. But some moments brought him closer to the surface, more aware of his fragile life as it floated along in stasis._

 _Something was different now, though. The darkness was thinning. And as he approached the surface, he knew that this was it, that he was no longer tied to this haze. He didn't give much thought to what came next. In truth he thought very little._

 _And as his head breached the surface of the darkness, his eyes opened._

A/N: Guys. _I did it_. This blasted chapter was the death of me but I _did it_! I finally finished it! It fought me so hard, you guys, and in the midst of all of the fighting I had two different family members come stay with me, and work on top of that kept me even busier. But I won, I finished it, and now you guys have the longest chapter I've written to date (I'm sure I'll surpass this shortly). I hope you guys like it as much as I do, because even though it was a terror to write, I'm so happy with the results. And let me wish you all an early Happy Halloween. Stay safe, and may no trolls crash your party!

A/N 2: Fixing Scene Break lines.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

The stagnant silence filling the hospital room was torn apart by a shuddering gasp that brought Hermione's head up in a flash. Professor Snape, eyes wide in terror and rapid breaths shaking through his chest, was finally and suddenly awake- and struggling to rise. Jumping out of her chair, she put herself in his line of sight and placed a shaking hand solidly against his shoulder. "Professor! Professor Snape!" She called to him. His eyes locked onto hers and his eyebrows furrowed, confusion evident in his frightened gaze. He raised a pale hand and grasped her arm tightly, as if rooting himself. "You're safe, Professor," she spoke to him as the door opened behind her and Healers flew around the bed. She was pushed roughly aside, and his hand seemed reluctant to release her arm- in continued to reach for her moments after their connection was lost. As she backed away she could see her professor fighting to see past the healers, desperate to find her face once more. He called out to her as she fought for a better line of sight.

"Granger!" His face- drawn tight in pain and worry and in dire need of news- found hers, and the room seemed to still. The Healers all paused as Professor Snape leaned closer and whispered hoarsely, "Please."

Hermione knew what he was asking. It was clear what he had to know now, before anything else. With a confident smile, she said the few words he needed to hear. "We did it, Professor," she said. "We won."

His features relaxed with her words and in an instant he slumped back onto his pillows. A Healer took her gently by the shoulders and escorted her through the door, but Hermione stole one last glance behind her as she was dismissed. Amidst the lime-green robes she caught a glimpse of her professor, and smiled. Professor Snape was finally awake.

* * *

As the door closed in front of her with a soft click, Hermione found she couldn't hold the gleeful laugh that escaped her lips. He was awake! _He was awake!_ She spun in place, hands running through her hair, and her cheeks began to tire from the enormous grin on her face.

"He's awake," she whispered to herself excitedly as she began pacing the hall. "I can't believe it! I should tell someone. Professor McGonagall should know, and Harry and Ron- oh thank the stars he's awake!"

Her pacing ceased as she stood in front of the door once more, staring at the wood as though trying to see through it. She really should write to someone, she thought absently, but couldn't tear herself from the hall. Behind her was a short bench and she sat down, eyes fixed on room 309. Her legs bounced up and down in anticipation. Her mind began to drift as the minutes ticked by. She wondered, how much did he remember? He seemed to be aware of the final battle, at least, judging from his reaction when he first woke up.

And what a reaction that was! Hermione absentmindedly rubbed her arm where Professor Snape had grabbed her. Such desperation in his eyes, and fear. She didn't think she had ever seen that expression so severely on someone before. And he seemed so confused to see her, of all people. Which, if she was being honest, is not something that should surprise her in the least bit. Soon he would know the whole story. Soon...

With a start Hermione realized something that should have been quite obvious. She had been expecting to see him again, talk with him. But Professor Snape had never been one to make friends, especially with a student. Why would he welcome her back to his bedside? Why wouldn't he be furious with her for being there in the first place? Biting her bottom lip, she felt a nervousness flutter through her body. What if he turned her away?

She began to feel quite foolish. "Why am I waiting here still?" she muttered, and stood. "I shouldn't be here, what right do I have? I should have gone straight to Professor McGonagall."

Embarrassed, she turned down the hall, but before she made three steps in the direction of the exit, the door opened and healers started to exit the room.

"Miss Granger?" The healer that had escorted her into the hall earlier gestured her forward. "He wants to talk to you."

"Wha- Really?" Hermione blurted out, shocked. Her heart skipped a beat as she turned back towards the room. The healer smiled kindly at her and stepped out of the way of the door. _He wants to see me? Me?! Don't get excited, Granger, he's probably livid._ Taking a deep breath to collect her racing thoughts, she stepped forward and into the room.

The door clicked softly shut behind her, and she found herself very alone with a very awake Professor Snape.

Propped up on pillows, his hands in his lap, he looked much more like the professor she remembered. His panicked expression from before had been replaced by the usual stern neutrality and as he looked down his nose at her she self-consciously fidgeted. She opened her mouth to say- well, something- when he ordered "Sit down," and she scurried over to her chair instead.

Once she was seated, he looked her over before saying, "I have been informed that you have been by my side quite often since I've been hospitalized. I'd like to know why."

"Oh," she whispered. "O-Oh." _I don't know how to answer this._ Professor Snape was looking at her expectantly, showing no telling signs of any emotion except to show that the longer she waited to answer the more annoyed he grew. She raced to think of a way to explain it.

"It all started because I wasn't sleeping," she blurted out. His eyebrow raised, a sign that he was at least curious. "That first night, after the battle, I couldn't sleep. I needed to keep busy, so I went to the one place I knew would need help."

"And... sitting by my bed was helpful."

"It was, sir," she nodded. "You were in critical condition and needed to be monitored constantly. There were only so many nurses and there were so many patients..." Her words drifted off as she began to recall that first night, witnessing countless injuries, a few deaths. Her breath hitching, she continued, "I was there in between mediwitches to make sure your vitals stayed in a safe range. I assisted in your care while they couldn't."

"And you came back the next night."

"I did, yes. I came by whenever I could. Like I said, sir... I wasn't sleeping. I needed to keep busy."

Professor Snape shifted in bed. "And yet you're here today. Did your work on my behalf give you enough experience to assist the Healers at St Mungo's?"

Hermione blinked in confusion. "Sir?"

"Why are you here, girl?" Snape growled, growing irritated. "Today, at St Mungo's, why were you sitting here when I woke up? There couldn't possibly be anything to do here to keep you preoccupied. Why. Are. You. Here?"

Her face had become so warm she was sure she was scarlet. Her head told her she couldn't possibly tell him that she found peace at his side, that she often sought him out when she was feeling the most desperate for calm. But what else could she tell him?

"Miss Granger!" he snapped.

"I worry about you!" she yelled out.

At that, Professor Snape blinked. It was a few moments before he said anything. "You are a foolish girl for doing so," he finally replied, the usual anger in his voice muted.

"I don't think I'm foolish," she replied quietly. "And I'm not the only one who worries. Harry-"

"Tell me how Potter defeated him," he interrupted.

She told him, in no great detail, how Harry had learned of his fate from his memories (he was particularly annoyed to learn exactly how many memories he had passed on to the young man), how Harry had met with Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest, how Voldemort killed the horcrux inside of him, how Narcissa had lied to protect her son, and how Harry had finally defeated Voldemort with the Elder Wand, of which he was the rightful owner. And after she was finished, Professor Snape closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the pillows in silent contemplation for many minutes before asking, "Casualties?"

"Many," she replied, so quietly he opened his eyes and looked at her somberly.

"Who?"

"I don't know them all..." Her arms crossed, she ran her hand up against her shoulder. "Fred Weasley."

"How tragic for Molly and Arthur," he said softly, and she could see that he was genuine. "Please pass on my condolences."

She nodded and continued. "Remus and Tonks." Glancing up, she saw a hint of regret flash across his features before he schooled his expression. "Lavender Brown. Colin Creevey. Crabbe." She met his eyes uneasily as she added, "Bellatrix Lestrange, and many others on both sides."

Professor Snape looked away and was silent for quite some time. Hermione, left to wringing her hands, opened her mouth many times but couldn't think of a thing to say. Finally, he said softly, "You may go, Miss Granger. I find myself to be quite tired."

"Of course," she said, startled at the sudden dismissal, and reached down for her bag.

"Miss Granger," he called to her as she walked towards the door. She turned and he paused carefully before saying, "Understand I do not ask this of you out of some fondness or kindness. I need information, specifically from someone closely involved with Harry Potter and who will not lie out of kindness or concern. If you can, I would appreciate it if you would return tomorrow morning."

"Of course, sir!" Hermione could feel her eyes open wide as her excitement returned to her. "I'll be back shortly after breakfast. I'll answer anything I can."

"And bring the paper," he added, as she opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

* * *

The door closed, and Severus Snape seemed to collapse. His head fell back, his body limp, and his breathing grew harsh. It hurt to be alive.

He clutched his chest with one shaking hand, as if it were possible to massage the tightness from his lungs, to calm the frantic beating of his heart. Maintaining composure in front of Miss Granger had been incredibly taxing. The healers had been right to argue with him. He should have waited.

Should have, maybe. Could have? Not on his life.

He had woken up in such a confusion, his last thoughts still so fresh in his mind. As his eyes had closed in death, the imprint of Lily's gaze seared into his soul, he had been filled with an overwhelming feeling of tranquility. He had done all he could do, in this life. He may have been dying alone, an enemy, no loved ones to mourn for him, but he had made peace with that ages ago. The best he could have hoped for was that the memories he imparted to Potter would tell his side for him. At last, there was nothing more for him to do.

And then his eyes had opened, and nothing made sense. No longer were the walls decrepit and grey, the air thick with dust- instead his eyes were blinded by white and his lungs ached from the cool, thin air with each inhale. The shock that had so thoroughly blanketed his body in the moments before death had been torn from him, exposing his body to the harsh reality of pain.

Following shortly behind was the panic of not knowing. Where was he? Who was he with? Was he in danger? Were they _all_ in danger? _What had happened?!_

To say he had been surprised to see Miss Granger would have been an understatement. He still could not understand what would bring her to his bedside. He supposed he was thankful- a young mind was easier to pry information out of, and he was much too weak to use Legilimency at the moment. It was why he had asked her to return. So her being there was as much a benefit as it was a curiosity.

What had she said? "We did it, Professor. We won." Those simple words had calmed him from his panic. That knowledge was enough to sustain him through long minutes of poking and prodding and questions he soon grew tired of. "'The last thing I remember' is shoving my wand up your nose, yelling 'Accio Brain' and coming up empty," he snapped at a particularly babbly healer. "Now, I have told no prophesies to date but I have a feeling that this might be the one."

"Then it's a good thing the ministry still has your wand, Mister Snape," an elderly Healer snipped, straight faced. "Lift your arm for me." He cut her with a sharp glare before doing so.

So the ministry had his wand. He hadn't been able to get any information out of the healers beyond that, but he was smart enough to know what that meant. He may have woken up in a hospital bed and not a cell, which could only mean Potter had used his memories to explain his actions, but that didn't mean the ministry was going to ignore all that had happened. He would most certainly have a hearing to deal with once he healed. All considering, he should consider himself lucky. He was alive, after all.

That fact alone surprised him more than anything. He of course had taken precautions before the attack but he never imagined they would actually pay off. Ever since Arthur Weasley was attacked by Nagini years ago he had been working on an anti-venom potion. Adding it to his daily regiment had seemed to pay off. He was amazed that the blood loss hadn't killed him. Had his head fallen in a way that pinched the blood flow? Had one of the children- Miss Granger, even?- taken care to his wounds after he had passed out? He had, of course, taken other potions alongside his antivenom, but such a wound should surely have been fatal regardless.

His head hurt. This was a problem for later.

As he settled back into a more comfortable resting position, he was interrupted by a knock on the door. Glowering- how was he supposed to _heal_ if they wouldn't let him rest?- he snapped, "What is it?!"

The door opened, and Severus tensed. Minerva McGonagall stepped into the hospital room, face solemn, and eyed him cautiously behind her usual square spectacles. He really wished he hadn't sunk so far into the pillows; he felt like a child looking up at her. "Minerva," he greeted quietly. "What a... surprise."

She nodded, and gestured to the chair recently vacated by Miss Granger. "May I?" she asked, and at his nod she gathered her robes about her and sat. For a moment she simply stared, a look of contemplation on her face, and Snape began to grow uneasy. "Severus," she sighed. "We have much to discuss."

With a bit of effort he managed to shimmy himself into more of a sitting position. _There,_ he thought. _Not quite so emasculating._ "I believe we do, yes," he replied. "What shall we discuss first? Hogwarts? The war? My yet-possible incarceration?"

"I thought we'd start with your sacrifices and loyalties."

"Oh for Merlin's sake." He rolled his eyes. "My _sacrifices and loyalties?_ Go waste your sentiments on some other poor man, this one is tired and has no need of your words."

Minerva's eyes were daggers as she glared at Severus. "You know perfectly well what you've done," she snapped. "Don't be so self-deprecating."

"My loyalties were to a dead woman," he growled, "and a promise made long ago."

"Be that as it may, Severus, the sacrifices you made cost you more than any of us. It almost cost you your life." Minerva leaned forward. "I will not believe for a second that you felt nothing for the Order and the side of the light. You forget I have known you nearly your entire life, longer than Voldemort ever knew you. I can read you better than he ever could, and I don't need Legilimency to do so- which makes me _furious_ knowing what I know now. I thought," she paused. Her words had grown harsh, tense with emotion, but she softened them now as she added, "I thought we had truly lost you to him, Severus."

"Did you just come here to tell me off, or did you have other things to discuss with me?" Severus asked quietly. He had already been tired. Now he was tired and uncomfortable.

Minerva sat back once more and sighed. "Severus Snape, you are an infuriating man. When I learned about who you really were-"

"When Potter shouted my deepest, most private moments to the whole of Hogwarts, you mean."

"He brought to light a different side of you I never imagined." She waved her wand, and the water pitcher filled two glasses of water and drifted towards each of them.

Severus decided not to admit how grateful he was as the first sip slid down his aching throat. It would be rude to interrupt, after all.

"I had always assumed," she continued, "that your joining the Order was borne out of regret for making an adolescent decision and taking the Mark." _You aren't entirely wrong._ "To learn it was out of _love_ -"

"It was out of a desperation to fix what I had put in motion," he finally interrupted. For goodness sake, this woman has never had this much sap in her in all the years he knew her. "When that failed, I stayed out of remorse. I promised Albus that I would protect the only bit of her left, to keep her memory alive."

"Hogwash," she muttered into her glass. After she took a drink, she added, "It may have begun that way, Master Spy, but it changed. I don't know when, but despite everything, you started to change."

"I don't know what kind of impression I gave off in the past," he said, "but you'll find I don't particularly enjoy talking about myself all that much." He coughed lightly, and continued, "Was there anything else?"

"Yes, actually." She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a rolled parchment. "Mister Potter's account of your memories have given many people the assurance that they need as to your innocence. However, a formal trial is necessary for protocol. The Ministry has arranged your trial to be one month from now. Should you sign this document, I am allowed to return your wand to you until the trial date listed." She handed over the parchment and a quill.

Severus read over the document with a scowl. "'I, Severus Snape, swear on my life that I shall use no dangerous nor harmful magics which will be recorded via magical trace until the date of my trial listed below, of which I agree to attend under penalty of immediate imprisonment to Azkaban Prison.' They certainly love their theatrics."

"Under normal circumstances you would wait your trial out in a cell. You are very fortunate Mister Potter has been so adamant about your safety."

"Yes, hmm..." He signed his name with a flourish and handed the parchment back to Minerva. "Why, though? Why does he care?"

As she pocketed the parchment up her sleeve once more she replied, "I cannot be certain, but the battle... this war... was messy. Harry feels responsible for so much." She pulled out his wand, but hesitated in handing it over to its' owner, lost in thought as she was. "You gave him your memories, shared with him your deepest secrets, in order to explain what needed to be done. He knows you intimately, now. To lose you might just be like losing family."

"That's preposterous," Severus snorted. "It's much more likely that Potter wants to keep me alive so that one less person died fighting his war. Now hand me my wand, woman, unless you plan to make a knitting needle out of it?"

"Severus Snape you are an infuriating man!" Minerva snapped once more, but Severus saw a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she shoved the wand out towards him.

His fingers tingled as they wrapped around the wood, the subtle spell of the document in place. He twirled the wand between his hands, eyeing the wood, and asked, "Tell me of Miss Granger."

* * *

Hermione arrived at The Burrow in high spirits. The sun had begun its descent and she squinted into the glare as she approached the home, so she was surprised to see Harry and Ron sitting on the steps waiting for her. They had been talking, and cut off their conversation as she approached. Ron took a few steps towards her.

"'Mione! What took you so long? What did Flitwick want? Is everything alright?"

"Everything is fine, Ron," she replied, nodding at Harry in greeting. "More than fine, actually! Professor Snape is awake!"

Both of their eyes opened wide. Ron took a step back and asked, "Didn't they just move him?"

"How do you know?" asked Harry before she could respond to Ron. "Did McGonagall tell you? Or that Healer from the tent?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I went to see him."

"You what?" Ron's face seemed stuck in a state of utter confusion. "When? I thought you went to see Flitwick!"

"I did! And after I talked to him I went to see Professor Snape, and he woke up while I was there!"

Ron opened his mouth to reply, then quickly closed it. His face tight, he turned from her and stared at Harry, who- eyes wide- simply shrugged and shook his head. He started to say something, but stopped and fumbled, and rubbed his eyes.

"You were..." He rubbed his chin with a hand. "You knew we were here. Waiting for you. And you went to the _hospital_ to visit _Snape?_ "

Hermione's eyebrows pulled together in confusion and she reached to touch his shoulder. He pulled back and she huffed. "Ron, listen to what I have to say before you yell at me!"

"Why should I? You don't seem to care about how I feel, Hermione!" He gestured towards the house. "What about Mum and Dad? And George? They've been waiting for you too, you know! They wanted to talk to you, too!"

"I know that, Ron-"

"Then why weren't you here?!"

"Ron," interrupted Harry, "Let her answer you."

Harry was like a breath of fresh air to the conversation, one Hermione particularly appreciated. Ron stood straight, ears red, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine," he snapped. "Explain."

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "First of all," she began, "you know that I love your family. As much as they include me, and welcome me, they make me feel like one of them. But I'm still not a Weasley and it still feels like I'm intruding sometimes, and..." She rubbed her neck as she searched for the words. "Look, your family is going to get some version of Fred back as soon as the ward magic clears. I'm glad I was a part of figuring that out. I just thought you guys could use some time to be together as a family."

She watched as Ron sighed and scratched his head. He looked back at Harry, who nodded encouragingly. When he turned towards her again he groaned and put his face in his hand. "Hermione," he mumbled into his palm. He stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. She wasn't sure if it was for her comfort or his, but regardless she let out a tense breath. "I need you here with me. To me, you _are_ family. You and Harry, we are our own family."

Gently she pulled back from his arms enough to look into his eyes. "I feel that way, too," she replied, "but lately it's been different. I feel different. And I guess I just need time to get used to it."

Ron nodded. "I understand. Just... we were worried, you know? We didn't know why you were gone for so long."

"I'll try to let you know what's going on," she promised, then hesitated before continuing, "I'm seeing him again, tomorrow morning. After breakfast. Will you two come with?"

Ron cringed. "I've seen enough of that man to last a lifetime, thanks." He looked over at Harry, who had stepped forwards now that the tone of conversation had calmed. "What about you, mate?"

"It might just be me, but I doubt I'd help him any by showing up," he answered. "Why are you going back up there, Hermione?"

"He wants information." She took a seat on the front steps and the boys followed suit. "He said he can't trust anyone to not lie to him or cover up the truth in an effort to be kind. He wants to talk to someone closely involved in the fight." Smiling, she added, "and he wants me to bring him the paper."

Ron rolled his eyes as Harry asked, "He can't trust McGonagall? She seems like she'd give it to him straight." Hermione shrugged.

"What did Flitwick want?" Ron interrupted, clearly done talking about the hated Potions Master.

"Oh, right!" Hermione proceeded to tell them about the Ward Task Force, and how Professor Flitwick had offered her a position within the group. She pulled out the book he had given her and lovingly stroked the cover. "Isn't it fascinating?" she gushed. "My magic will be a part of the school for ages! I wonder what kind of spellwork it entails..." She jumped up from her step. "You know, I should probably get started on this book. I didn't get much reading done with, well, all the excitement."

"Come with me to the garden," Ron said. "I'll nap in the sun and you can use me as a pillow." Waving goodbye to Harry, who was already headed inside, Ron took Hermione by the hand and led her around the house. She smiled. Today had its ups and downs, but overall it had been the nicest it had been in a long while, and she planned to soak up the rest of the day in peaceful tranquility.

A/N: -deep breath- Okay. So. Wow. That took a while. And I apologize. Things are HECTIC. Sadly, this fanfiction has to take a backburner over other priorities. So sorry. I will post when I can though! I have not given up! I still love you all and hope you enjoy this chapter. I wish I had had some more time to work out some things (What? MORE TIME?) but I wanted to get it to you before Christmas. Here's hoping for a speedier next chapter!

A/N 2: I'm having a bit of trouble with me scene breaks, it seems. Let's try this.


	6. Chapter Five

A/N: I don't usually do pre-chapter notes but I thought it was important for you guys to know that this chapter is going to be a sad one. I hope you can still enjoy it!

 **Chapter Five**

The teaspoon tapped gently against the edge of her glass as steam floated breezily upwards. Harry sat across from her, stirring his cup absentmindedly as he turned the pages of the Daily Prophet. A long, strong arm wrapped its way around her shoulders- she leaned into Ron's warm chest and held her teacup close.

"Are we ready for this?" Harry asked, staring down at a page full of friends and family, all looking back at him from under the header that read "The Fallen." They all exchanged resigned looks across the table.

"To The week of funerals?" Ron offered, hoisting his glass in the air.

"To the week of goodbyes," Hermione countered, hoisting hers.

"To friends," Harry added, raising his glass to meet theirs.

With a gentle chink of teacups, the Trio returned to their quiet contemplation. This week would be difficult.

* * *

He heard her shuffling outside the door. Pushing his hovering tray of breakfast aside, he dabbed his mouth with a cloth and waited for her to work up the nerve to knock. A sly smile crept over his face as he heard her huff impatiently at herself moments before her knuckles rapped across the door.

"Enter," he called to her, schooling his expression to one of disinterest. The door opened, and Hermione stepped carefully into the hospital wing. "Miss Granger," he greeted with a nod.

"Professor," she replied as she closed the door behind her.

He noticed with amusement that much like the day before, Hermione Granger had little idea how to handle herself around him. Her awkwardness was not misunderstood- he was well aware that the usual student/teacher dynamic that was so comfortable for them both had been shattered over the last year. For him, the change was minute. He had made this change-over many times in the past with countless students of his and one rarely felt much different than the other. For her, though... he could see in her eyes that she no longer saw him as simply as a "former Professor." Due to the significance of their places in the war, he held a different position in her world now. Strange as it was, he was less annoyed by that as he felt he should have been. After all, Miss Granger was proving useful already with the information she was willing to give him. And as much as he hated to admit it, he recognized the fact that were it not for her, he may very well not be here today.

She coughed, awkward in the long pause that had fallen over them. Still standing just inside the room, she asked "How are you feeling today?"

His eyebrow rose. "As well as can be expected. Sit. Is that the paper?"

She handed it over and took the seat next to him. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he shook it open and glanced at the front page. Minerva was right to be concerned over the health of this young woman. Now that he was in better form himself, he was able to truly see her for how she was- a mess.

It had been a year since he had really seen her. Camping in the woods had done little for her wellbeing. She was too skinny, and her color was pale- especially against the formal black robes that hung off her loosely. She had attempted to control her hair- longer than ever- into a neat braid but already some of the dry, brittle-looking strands were fighting their way to freedom. With her hair pulled back, the circles under her eyes were glaringly noticeable. Minerva had said she wasn't sleeping or eating, and it was painfully obvious. He recognized the signs of malnutrition- It was a battle he had fought himself, after the first war. He nonchalantly nudged his remaining breakfast her way.

"Help yourself to a muffin, Miss Granger."

The look on her face, a mix of shock and nausea, amused him. He pretended not to notice as she gently lifted the uneaten dessert muffin and started pulling the chocolate chips out of the top. After only a few bites of the sweets, her stomach seemed to settle and by the time he had flipped to the second page the muffin was gone. And they said he wasn't a people person.

A few minutes later he closed the paper and turned towards her. "Whose funeral is today?" he asked.

His abrupt question seemed to shock her into a mute fish, the way her mouth worked as she thought of a reply. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Formal black robes, Miss Granger? Not the usual hospital attire."

Hermione blushed, and the color it brought to her face was a warm relief. "Oh, right," she muttered. "I should have known that." She pulled on her robes a bit before replying, "Fred Weasley's funeral is in a few hours."

"Ah." He picked up the paper once more. "That must be... difficult."

"Yes..." she nodded. A silence crept over them once more before she asked, "Did you have questions for me, sir?"

"I did." He took a moment to skim another paragraph of the paper before setting it down and gazing once more at her. "Tell me, Miss Granger- whose idea was it to go _camping?_ "

* * *

 _I shouldn't have eaten that muffin._

Hermione's stomach took another emotional lurch as tears dripped gently down her cheeks. Her hands were squeezed by Harry and Ron as they stood in solemn mourning for Fred Weasley. The family and friends all gathered atop a small hill overlooking the Burrow, the summer sun shining high through the single oak tree, a light breeze stirring the long grass at their ankles. A trio of violinists- relatives, if the red hair was any inclination- stood to the side, playing a morose melody during silent contemplation.

The music hummed to a quiet end, signaling the end to the ceremony.

Sniffing, Hermione wiped at her eyes with a sleeve of her robes as mourners all around her stirred from their silence. Bodies moved quietly past her, dismissing themselves to the Burrow's garden, where a luncheon had been prepared. Within minutes, the only ones remaining on the hilltop were the Weasleys she knew and loved, Harry and herself.

Harry released her hand and stepped over to Ginny, who wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed quietly into his shoulder. Hermione squeezed Ron's hand, looking into his eyes. His thankful smile lasted mere moments before it fell once more into a pained expression. Reaching up to tuck a loose strand behind her ear he said, "I'm so glad you're here, Hermione. This is..." he took a shuddering breath. "This is much harder than I had thought." Words failing her, she nodded.

"Do you want to say goodbye?" she asked, nodding at the podium. His eyes followed hers.

"Yeah..." he rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, I- I do."

"I'll be here." She rubbed his shoulder as he turned from her. And then she stood alone.

Alone. That was something she had been feeling quite a bit, lately. Her eyes followed the departing mourners on their way down to the Weasley garden, feelings of despair filling her chest. As much as she loved the Weasleys, and Harry, all of her friends in the wizarding world... it had never felt like her home less than now. She longed desperately to leave this moment and retrieve her parents. It killed her that she couldn't. So much of her was needed here, supporting her friends and helping with the rebuilding effort. Her heart feared the worst if she brought them back too soon. Watching the Weasley family and friends, tears streaming down her face once more, she felt lost. Truly, utterly, and completely alone.

It was no wonder that as deep into her dark, depressing thoughts as she was, it took her quite a few moments to become aware of the commotion behind her.

Her head whipped around in time for her to witness George Weasley, red faced and furious, throw a well-aimed punch at his brother Percy's face.

Her feet were moving before she understood what had just happened. Moments later she was close enough to hear the angry shouts from the furious twin, whose arms were being held by Bill and Charlie. "You have no right, no right!" He was yelling down at Percy, who was sitting on the ground and wiping at a bloody lip as Mrs Weasley hurried to his side.

In a fury, Percy rose to meet his younger brother. "'No right?' Are you serious?!" he shouted back over Mrs Weasley's fretting. "I was _there_! I watched it happen! I was INCHES from him! I don't know what 'higher being' chose him instead of me, but they were _wrong_!"

George shoved his brothers away from him and skirted his mother as he approached Percy. "You have no right," he growled again, shoving a finger into Percy's chest, "to say what you did. How _dare_ you assume anyone would wish you were the one on that podium!"

George's rough gesture towards the podium where Fred rested caused Percy to flinch, but disuaded none of his anger. "You think I don't know what everyone is thinking? 'Poor George, losing his other half. If only it had been Percy instead, the great prat wasn't even good enough to side with his _family_ , let alone the right side of the war!'"

Outbursts flew around the two brothers at Percy's emotional statement. In response, George gathered the front of Percy's robes in his balled fists and pulled him close. "Once again that head you worship is so obtuse it blinds you from the truth. Do you honestly think anyone, _anyone_ would think such an awful thing?!" Shoving Percy away he took a few steps back from the crowd. "You don't have a right to make this about you," he snarled, a finger pointed threateningly in his brother's direction. "Not today."

George stormed off, and Hermione remembered to breathe.

* * *

Snape turned the page of the Daily Prophet, the crinkling of the paper the only sound in the hospital room that morning. Hermione Granger sat next to him, silent, curling her fingers in her robes as she stared at her lap. He gave her a sidelong glance. She looked much like the day before, but even more exhausted- if that were even possible.

Once again, he pushed his near-empty breakfast tray towards her. "Have a muffin, Miss Granger. I promise it's a much better use of effort than attempting to twist your fingers loose."

When her fingers stilled but she didn't move, he glanced over. She was staring at him with a confused frown. He raised his eyebrows. "By all means, continue twisting your fingers into knots. I was simply offering a less detrimental alternative."

To his surprise she laughed, a small puff of air as the corners of her mouth turned up. "Thank you, sir," she said as she reached for the muffin. She tore a small bite off with thin fingers. After a few minutes, she spoke. "Do you have anything to ask me today?"

He folded the paper and set it aside. "Where did we leave off?"

* * *

The evening following Fred's funeral found Hermione apparating to a rather odd alleyway in Muggle London, a peculiar photograph in hand. Checking around to assure herself no one was lurking, she quickly straightened her muggle dress, slipped the photo in her not-so-muggle bag, and marched out onto the busy street where her raven-haired famous friend was waiting for her.

"Are we it?" she asked as she approached him, looking around to see if anyone else in the street was familiar.

Harry nodded. "Ron and Ginny are staying at the Burrow," he replied. "Before I left, things were still very tense." He looked over at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. "Where've you been, anyway? You didn't come back after your visit to Snape."

"Oh, right." She reached into her bag (elbow deep- Harry had to stand close to block her arm from the passers-by) and pulled out a small black and white photograph. "I went to the storage facility I had set up for my family's things. It took me a while, but I think I found an appropriate picture." She held it up for him to see. "Do you think Colin would like it?"

Harry smiled at the photo, his younger self grinning back in between two young friends- one of the first pictures the trio had ever taken together. The three friends had their arms around each other, school robes haywire as the wind blew their hair this way and that. Hogwarts shone in the distance, and an owl fluttered out from one of the towers to soar beautifully through the frame. He looked at her happily. "It's great, Hermione. Truly magical."

She beamed as she stored the picture back in her bag for safe-keeping. "Did you manage to find yours?" she asked.

He nodded and pulled out a tiny photograph from his back pocket. With a quick and subtle tap of his wand, the image grew to a rather large size and showed a group of friends in a secret room- Dumbledore's Army. Hermione whistled. "That's lovely, Harry," she whispered, gently tracing the eager-faced Colin, standing next to his brother. "It's... it's perfect."

She squeezed Harry's arm gently as the young man shrunk the photo once more, too shy to respond. "Shall we?"

With photographs stashed safely away, they travelled on foot to the funeral of Colin Creevey.

* * *

The funeral of Lavender Brown was set at sunrise, a tribute from her parents to the light she gave their lives. The service was lovely, the sky was painted in all her glory, and as far as funerals went, Hermione was stunned by the beauty of it all.

It made the news of the night before that much harder to bear.

Mr Weasley was waiting for them outside the door of the Burrow, grim-faced, when the trio had made it back from the service.

"Dad," Ron said, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Something happened," he replied. "And you three need to hear about it from someone _other_ than the Daily Prophet first."

He gestured them over to the side of the house, near the garden wall. "Now," he spoke, making eye contact with each of them but hovering over Harry in particular, "I want you all to promise me that you will not do anything foolish after I tell you this. You three have done enough- your jobs are over. I don't want any of you-" his eyes found Harry's again- "running off to do heaven knows what to try to find some sort of justice in all of this. Alright?"

Ron frowned. "Dad, what-"

"Promise me this!"

"We promise," Hermione answered quickly, staring at Ron and Harry intensely. "We'll stay put. No more adventures."

When Harry and Ron gave no argument, Mr Weasley closed his eyes and sighed with relief. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Mr Weasley-"

"Now," he continued, cutting Harry off, "I wish I didn't have to explain this, I really do, but something you three must understand is that when a war is won, it doesn't mean it's over."

"Dad, what-"

"Skirmishes happen. Outliers are still floating around in an attempt to cause unrest amongst the people, to say 'we may have lost, but we're still here.' People will still get hurt."

Hermione gasped, and Ron tensed beside her. "Who was it?" Harry asked quickly. "Who was hurt?"

"No one we know," Mr Weasley answered slowly. "A young couple, a few hours from here." He paused, passing a worried look over them all before settling on Harry once more. "They were killed, orphaning their one year old child."

Hermione put her hands over her mouth. Ron quickly wrapped his arm around her, rubbing her shoulder. After a moment of exchanged glances between the three, Harry said, "There's more you aren't telling us."

With a sigh, Mr Weasley reached into his cloak and pulled out a newspaper clipping. "The attackers left a message." He held the clipping up for them to read.

The clipping wasn't an article like Hermione had originally thought, but a photograph. In its ink it depicted a badly broken crib in a simple nursery, a blanket dangling off the edge. Flashing lights from unseen cameras illuminated harshly painted letters scrawled across the wall above the ruined crib:

 **HARRY POTTER,**

 **WE MADE YOU A NEW SAVIOR**

Hermione's eyes immediately locked with Harry's. His face was white.

Mr Weasley grabbed Harry by the shoulder. "Remember what you promised me, boy," he said, hushed. "This is not your fault. This is not your business."

"Not my business?" Harry said weakly. "I thought- I-" He pulled back from Mr Weasley roughly. "People are supposed to be done dying for me!" he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. "It's bad enough that Teddy-"

"Harry, mate, hold up," Ron interrupted. "Dad's right, this has nothing to do with you."

"Noth-" Harry gaped at his friend. "Nothing to do with me?" he argued. He grabbed the photo from Mr Weasley and held it up. "Whose name is painted on that wall? It's not Voldemort's! It's _mine!_ "

Ron pushed Harry's hand down. "And what does that have to do with you, _really?_ " he asked. "They're not targetting you, they're targetting what you stand for, you dunce."

"Ron," Hermione admonished.

Mr Weasley took the photo back and pocketed it. "This is exactly why I wanted to talk to you three first. This is a trying situation by far, but it is nothing more than a hate crime, something to be expected in the outcomings of a war. The only reason they mentioned you is because it made a bigger impact- it marked this crime for what it was."

"And that is?" Hermione asked, shaken.

Mr Weasley frowned as he looked at her, sympathy in his eyes. "A crime against muggleborns."

* * *

An impromptu Order meeting was called. The Weasleys spent the day setting up the living room to accomodate for the extra visitors. Molly made tea and biscuits. Harry spent the time before the meeting lost in thought or conversing with Ron. Hermione, arms full of cushions, tried to ignore the lack of inclusion. After all, Ron was taking the news of the attack surprisingly well and she hoped that he was using this time to disuade Harry from any foolish thoughts.

It wasn't until after the meeting had started that Hermione realized that it was well past time for her meeting with Professor Snape.

She wondered if he was able to get the paper in some other means. She wondered if he knew what had happened. She wondered if he knew who had done it.

She wondered, as she forced her attention back to the room once more, if she would be able to focus on this meeting at all.

It wasn't until an increasingly tense Harry stood up next to her that she was able to finally shake her clogged thoughts free from distraction.

"Mr Potter," Kingsley Shacklebot nodded. "You have a concern?"

"More of a request, sir," he asked.

Kingsley, acting as meeting leader, frowned in confusion. "And what is your request?"

"I wish to forego my final year of Hogwarts and join the Aurors, sir."

Hermione jumped to her feet. "What?!" she screeched, flinching when she realized what she had just done. In a quieter voice she hissed, "Harry, sit down. You're being silly."

Harry stared forward, waiting for Kingsley to answer. The man sighed.

"Harry..." he responded, "I urge you to consider what you're asking. You've just spent years fighting a fight you should never have been involved in. If any of us has earned a year of peace at Hogwarts, it's you."

Harry shook his head. "Hogwarts isn't where I'm needed, sir," he replied. "If I go back now, it'll just make me feel stuck, useless." A sense of desperation crept into his voice, across his face. "I need to make sure this is finished, once and for all."

Mr Weasley stood from the other side of the room. "Harry, what about your promise?" he argued, clearly unhappy.

"That I wouldn't run off on my own to do anything foolish?" Harry answered. "I'm not. I'm asking to train early as an auror, which was my plan after Hogwarts anyway."

"But to make a decision on the basis of what happened hours ago is-"

"Mr Weasley," he interrupted, "this isn't just because of what happened today. Ron and I have been talking about this for a while now."

At that, Hermione whipped her head around to stare at Ron, still sitting on the sofa, who looked away guiltily. Mrs Weasley made a sound much like a strangled gasp and grabbed at Mr Weasley's hand.

"Ronald Weasley-" she began, but Ron cut her off.

"Mum, we'll talk later," he promised. "This is about Harry right now."

As the room focused on Harry once more, Kingsley groaned and rubbed his eyes. "If you still wish to act on this in a week's time," he replied after a long pause, "come see me at the Ministry. Until then, I once again urge you to reconsider."

As Harry reclaimed his seat with a thanks, Hermione seethed.

* * *

"Harry James Potter!" she shouted as soon as Ron's bedroom door had closed behind the trio.

"Hermione-"

"No, you don't get to talk," she yelled. "After all, why talk to me at all, huh? I might not agree with your ridiculous plans!"

"Hermione," Ron interjected, but instantly regretted it as Hermione turned towards him.

"And you! You, my boyfriend, the person I trust most in this world, can't even look me in the face when truth comes out that you're planning on this, too?!"

"Hermione, would you just listen for a second!" Ron shouted over her. "What, do you think this was our plan? That we were just not going to tell you we weren't going back to school? You think we were planning this behind your back?"

"It certainly seems so, yes!"

Ron rubbed his face with his hands. "No. That wasn't the plan. Harry and I had been talking about leaving Hogwarts- _just_ talking, see. It wasn't much more than a thought, before this morning."

"You said this decision wasn't decided by this morning."

Harry stepped forward. "It wasn't, not completely," he said. "But when we heard the news this morning, all those thoughts came back to my mind and I realized that if I were to go back to Hogwarts I would have felt _useless_ there. I've been fighting for so long, and all of a sudden I'm supposed to stop? Knowing what I know now, after everything, I can't look at myself if I go back." He paused, and the look he gave her begged her to understand. "Please tell me you get that."

Hermione groaned. She was still angry, furious, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't understand at least a little. "We're not done talking," she threatened, pointing at each of them as she turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" asked Ron.

"I'm late to deliver the paper."

* * *

Her presence in the hospital room equaled his, and a riotous storm of tension swirled around the both of them. The moment she closed the door behind her he snapped.

"Child, what on _earth_ has happened that has kept you so long?" he barked. "And what has the hospital staff all up in edges? Everyone's walking around as if the Dark Lord had just resurfaced, and if I have to hear one more 'never you mind, dear,' I'm going to spend the remainder of my damnable days in Azkaban!"

Though his words would normally sting, Hermione was in too much of a fit herself to pay them much mind. Instead, she tossed the rolled up paper onto his lap and began to pace the length of his room. "An attack was made last night," she spoke as he unrolled the paper and observed the front page. "Against a muggleborn wizarding couple. The attackers, you'll see, have left their only child an orphan."

Snape skimmed the article in a hurry and looked up to watch as Hermione continued to pace. "Has the Order met?" he asked.

She nodded. "Not long ago. It was-" she gritted her teeth- "an interesting meeting."

"And what did they have to say?"

Hermione stopped suddenly, her long summer robe swirling around her ankles. Blushing, she turned to him. "I'm sorry," she whispered, eyes wide. "I couldn't focus. I was thinking..."

When she stopped, he frowned. "Were thinking... of?"

With an overdramatic sigh, she sat down in her usual chair. "I was thinking... that I was late getting you the paper."

Snape snorted. "You are a foolish girl to this day, Miss Granger. And are proving quite unhelpful."

Indignant, she point to the Daily Prophet he still held. "Hang on now, if it weren't for me you'd still be in the dark about today!"

"A fair point. However, knowing this-" he waved the paper in the air- "isn't much help without knowing what is to be done about it." He frowned, looking her up and down. "What made the meeting so interesting if you weren't paying attention?"

A fury that had temporarily settled returned to her face. "Harry isn't coming back to Hogwarts for his final term. He's leaving straight for Auror training."

After a good minute's pause, Snape asked, "Is that all?"

With a groan, Hermione threw her head in her hands. "I know it sounds foolish," she mumbled. She picked her head up and continued more clearly, "He made his decision because of today. He swears it isn't, he says he has been thinking this for a while- that he's useless going back to the castle. But-"

"But you didn't know."

"No! But _Ron_ knew all about it, he's planning on leaving school as well."

"Good for them. Their schoolwork was hardly passable those six years, it will be a relief on the teaching staff to have them gone."

"How can you say-"

"Easily." Snape pulled himself up off the pillows and stared at her. "Potter and Weasley are right in one thing. Going back to Hogwarts isn't going to help finish this."

"But that's not-"

"Their problem? Since when has that ever mattered to them? Don't lie to yourself, Miss Granger. You're upset because when you return to Hogwarts in the fall, you'll be going alone."

Hermione sat dumbfounded. It had been such an emotional day, she hadn't given herself time to process Harry's announcement. As truthful as Snape's words were- and she realized that they were the truth- she didn't appreciate them slapped in her face.

"Now," Snape said, "If you're quite through with your internal conflict, do me a favor and alert the healers that I'll be needing my robes."

"What? Why?"

"Because," he sighed, grabbing his wand, "There's no rest for the weary when there's work to be done."

* * *

Hermione walked down the hospital halls in a fog. This day had been far too long for her, and to be fair, she could have done with none of it. Her mind still reeled with what Professor Snape had said. It was true, she realized far too late. She thought the three of them would have one more year together, one year to settle into this new world before things changed. She didn't want to go back to Hogwarts without her friends. Alone.

There was that dreaded word again. She didn't have her parents, her friends were planning to leave her, and now even Professor Snape had no need of her. What was she to do with herself?

 _No, really,_ she thought helplessly as she stood outside St Mungo's, ready to apparate but with no destination in mind, _what_ am _I supposed to do with myself?_

She wasn't ready to go back to the Burrow. She knew she was in part tired and over-emotional, but she couldn't face Harry and Ron right now. She couldn't stay here, either- with Professor Snape gone there wasn't a whole lot to do now, was there? Grimmauld Place, maybe? No, she dismissed that. She'd have to ask Harry. _Maybe the Leaky Cauldron..._

Her heart sank further as she realized she had no money to pay for a room. She hadn't needed any money in such a long time; she hadn't even thought to make a trip to Gringotts. And the hour was so late, there was no chance they'd still be open.

She threw herself onto the curb in defeat, her head on her knees. Hot, desperate tears squeezed out of her eyes and her breathing hitched. She just wanted a room, a _quiet_ room, where she could rest and sort out her emotions and-

An idea struck her so suddenly she surprised a nearby pigeon in her excitement. Professor McGonagall would help her, she knew she would. At the very least she could loan her a tent. In a hurry Hermione closed her eyes, pictured the giant castle, and turned.

* * *

A/N: Man, I really wanted to get this out on Christmas Day for you guys, but we hosted and it was chaos. Well anyway, I'd like to say sorry-not-sorry about the depressing chapter. I promise that this is the low point and that we should be going up from here. At least in terms of straight-up sadness anyway.

War is messy. I don't believe for a second that the trio walked away from it without turmoil. This is my take on the post-war blues.


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

It was an odd combination of colors, orange and green.

The flames that still devoured the wreckage that was once his home were dulled only by the sickly green dark mark hovering overhead. The man in black stood in the contrasting light of the fire and the curse, watching it all burn, burn into ash and smoke. Nothing remained- not a single page from a single book. Every last bit of the man's childhood-his life- was in an instant gone.

The man himself grew weary. His shoulders sank; he sighed; he turned away from the blaze.

He had nothing. Nothing to his name. Nothing to call his own. And yet he had more than he ever thought he'd have again.

With one more turn, the man disappeared, and Spinner's End was deserted once more.

* * *

She had only been gone a year, how had she already forgotten where the Headmistress's office was?

Retracing her steps for the third time, an increasingly-frustrated Hermione tried once more to locate the stone gargoyle that stood between her and McGonagall. _I swear that suit of armor is laughing at me,_ she thought scathingly as she paced down the same familiar hall. _Now, it's a right, then a… left? Where's the staircase? There should be a staircase here…._

"Aha!" she exclaimed triumphantly as said staircase moved into position.

"Hermione?"

Squeaking in fright, Hermione turned just as she was about to ascend the stone steps. Professor McGonagall was hurrying towards her, concern written across her features. "My dear, has something happened?"

"Oh!" Hermione was plagued with a sudden guilt. She hadn't until this moment considered the surprise and fear her unexpected appearance would cause. "Everything is fine!" she hurried to assure the older woman in front of her. "Nothing has happened. Well, not exactly." She paused then, not knowing exactly what to say.

Professor McGonagall seemed to understand. After a moment she nodded. "Follow me, Miss Granger. I'd prefer not to have a conversation out in the middle of the hall."

Up the stairs they went, quietly ascending the castle until they reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmistress's office. In lieu of a password, Professor McGonagall reached out a hand and gestured to the side- the gargoyle seemed to take the hint and jumped from its podium.

"Impressive," Hermione murmured as they walked past the guardian.

Professor McGonagall smiled over her shoulder. "Yes, well, I've never been one for passwords myself."

"But Gryffindor Tower requires passwords." The stairs began gliding upwards, and Hermione held onto a rail to steady herself.

"Simply tradition," the other woman replied.

The doors to the office appeared around the final curve of the staircase. As the stairs halted, Professor McGonagall pushed the doors open and gestured Hermione through them.

"So, it's official then?" She asked as she looked around at the mostly empty office, boxes lining the walls and a green tartan rug covering the floor. "Are you officially named the Headmistress?"

"It's all but written in stone at this point," she answered as she took her seat at the large claw-footed desk. "Now, sit. Tell me what's troubling you."

"At this point," Hermione sighed as she collapsed into the chair across the desk, "it'd be easier to list what _isn't_ troubling me." Her former Professor waited patiently as she collected her thoughts, staring at her clasped hands. "Do you… you had said that… that if I ever needed anything…"

"That you could come to me, yes. What is it, Hermione? What do you need?"

"I need a room."

Hermione hadn't looked up when she said it, but she glanced up in the following silence. Professor McGonagall was staring inquisitively at her, and Hermione chaffed under the gaze. "This week has been impossibly difficult," she continued. "Between the funerals, the attack, the Order meeting- and I haven't had a single opportunity to process any of it!" Quietly, she continued, "I don't have a place that I can go to really be by myself, to give myself an opportunity to breathe and sleep and _think_. I need just one moment of peace in my life."

After a long moment in which Hermione began to wonder about the validity of her request, Professor McGonagall nodded and stood. "I assume you still know how to get to Gryffindor Tower?" she asked. Hermione nodded.

"There is no password over the summer months," she said, walking over to one of the paintings on the wall. "I will send a portrait to let the Fat Lady know to expect you."

"Thank you so much, Professor!" Hermione was overcome with relief. Professor McGonagall offered her a small smile.

"I understand how you're feeling, Hermione," she spoke. "Gryffindor Common Room is open to you any time you need it. But please remember, dear, that being alone- while it might bring you clarity- will not heal your wounds. You need companionship in times like these. You need family."

Hermione shied away from the implications in her words. "Yes, Professor," she whispered. "I will remember that."

"Good." Professor McGonagall turned to share a few words with a portrait, which in turn scurried off out of frame. "Would you like me to walk you to the tower?"

"It isn't necessary," Hermione replied. "I can find my way back. But would you mind if I sent a note to Harry and the others before I head out?"

"No need," Professor McGonagall replied. "I will alert them. Have a safe night, Hermione."

Before she passed over the threshold Hermione turned. "Thank you," she replied. "I really appreciate this." At her Professor's nod, she descended the stairs.

* * *

Hermione's relief did not last.

Finding the Gryffindor Tower was not something she could forget in just one year, not after countless trips down numerous halls over the span of her school days. Within minutes, her feet knew how to get her there and her head began to wander, her thoughts muddled in her fatigue.

She was back at Hogwarts. Her second home- a place where despite its many challenges had always, to her, felt safe. The air, despite the comfortable summer temperatures outdoors, never seemed to warm much this far into the castle, but the coolness on her skin felt refreshing. The familiar stone walls were glowing softly in the torchlight, and the shadows that danced across the surfaces were oddly calming. She smiled. It had been so long since she walked these halls in any sort of peace.

It didn't take much time before she saw something out of place and she paused. Scorch marks- taller than she but striking against the bare patch of wall- stood out against the stone. She reached out a hand, gently following the line that trailed from one end of the hall to the other, and her smile faded. The marks were a harsh reminder of the thing she most wished she could forget. It brought back memories, not from her school days but from when she returned here; a member of an army, a defender, ready for battle. It was in this hall that she and Ron fought side by side, blocking spells and shielding the flames-

Hermione shook her head sharply, and the visions of light and chaos faded reluctantly from her mind. She couldn't think like that, not now. Not when she was alone, at night, cold and surrounded by shadows.

Her thoughts gradually began to darken the more she looked around. The last time she had been here had been nothing short of terrifying. The torches weren't the only things that had lit the halls, then. The air had blown freely through broken windows and torn apart stone as spells painted the castle in vibrant, terrifying color. The shadows had been far from calming; each dark blot that moved across her vision was another brush with potential death, lurking around corners, in doorways. A sudden shiver came across her as these thoughts flooded her mind, and she wrapped her arms around herself, her breath coming quicker as she hurried her step.

The shadows seemed to be closing in on her. What was once a refreshing coolness became an icy chill and as she turned a corner she was overcome with a feeling that she was no longer alone. She clutched at her wand nervously as she tightened the thin traveling cloak around her shoulders, her eyes darting around. _There is no reason I should be worried,_ she thought to herself. _I am safe. Professor McGonagall is here. I refuse to turn around now. I am safe._

Her thoughts grew darker, still. A bit of wall was still crumbled to her left. Perhaps this, here, is where someone- a classmate, maybe- had lost their life. She wondered then how many new ghosts Hogwarts would end up housing. She wondered if she would recognize anyone. Her breath hitched.

When she turned another corner and noticed a moving tapestry she froze. Shaking, she raised her wand and prayed it wasn't one of _Them_ or worse, _Her_. "Stupefy!" Her voice shook, and the spell bounced off the wall behind the tapestry harmlessly. It didn't stop her from backing out of the hall in a panic.

She turned, quickly, stumbling into a statue of a cruel looking wizard. She looked up into the fiercely etched features- the disapproving sneer, the glaring eyes, and the threatening outstretched wand- and shouted. Visions of the battle swimming in front of her, she threw herself down the hall. Her breath came in hitches, her feet stumbled, and soon she collapsed, curled into a ball against a suit of armor, unable to breathe and drowning in memories.

* * *

Severus Snape had nowhere to go. His house had burned, he had no money, and he had no family.

But he had a friend, and his friend had a giant castle. A giant castle with many rooms and hardly anyone to fill them.

As much as he despised asking favors- his track record with them wasn't great- he felt that tonight, homeless as he was, he could make an exception.

Thus, the halls of Hogwarts Castle found themselves in the company of an old friend.

Snape found himself in poor spirits on his way up towards the Headmistress's Office. His day had not gone very well. After hours of sensing that something terrible had happened and having to wait for one distraught girl-child to finally appear to find out exactly what had transpired, only for her to give him very little of what he _actually_ needed to know; after the headache of convincing the St Mungo's healers that he was perfectly capable of overseeing the rest of his care himself; after arriving to his home on Spinner's End, the only reasonably valuable bit of property he owned, just in time to watch the last of it burn to the ground-

And now, on his way to insuring a cup of warm tea and a bed, he found himself very much not alone in his suffering.

Snape stopped short in one of the long hallways leading to the Headmistress's Office. His initial thought of _why is there a student out of bed_ took him by surprise, but was quickly followed by another: _Merlin, what has happened now?_

There, mere strides from him, was a young woman, curled up in front of a suit of armor and wrapped in a cloak. He could see the massive amount of curls from where he stood, and recognized her at once.

"Miss… Granger?"

The shadowed mass that was Hermione Granger stirred. He heard her take a shuddering breath and sob.

Fearing something had happened- because why _else_ would Granger be curled up in the hallway on the way to the Headmistress's office? - he raced to her side. "Miss Granger?" he called again, kneeling by her.

The girl didn't move. He ran a hand through his hair, surveying the hall, looking for clues as to why she was here, in this condition. He saw nothing. He tried again. "Miss Granger, what happened?" When she didn't reply but continued to sob, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her up into a sitting position. She didn't pull away from him, but he felt her stiffen. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her eyes were wide in terror as they darted around the hall, her breathing was hitched, and she was shivering, the wand in her hand shaking as she clutched it close. He knew what this was without performing legilimency- she couldn't escape whatever memory she was reliving.

"Miss Granger, listen to me," he spoke clearly- at his voice she jerked her eyes back to him and he placed his palms on either side of her head, fingers tangling in the hair at her neck. "What you are seeing isn't real. You are safe. Focus on my eyes, Miss Granger."

Despite his words the girl squeezed her eyes shut and quivered under his fingers, whispering something he couldn't hear, repeating it urgently. He began to repeat himself, but her eyes flew open and in one tense move she grabbed his wrists tightly and clutched to him, her wand clattering to the floor between them. Looking up into his face she breathed, "Say my name." Snape swallowed.

"Miss Grang-"

" _No_ , my _name!_ "

Her voice came out as a desperate cry, a sob following shortly after. The girl was falling apart in front of him. His hands released her despite her grip on his wrists, hovering over her shoulders in uncertainty. Her head fell forward and her hair, chaotic as it was, fell into her face and stuck to her tears. " _Please_ ," she whispered, barely a breath, and gripped his wrists tighter.

"Hermione." The name sounded foreign to his ears, but the moment he said it he could tell it made a difference. Her breath hitched and when she looked up into his gaze once more her face became less distraught, and through the hands still gripping his wrists he could tell her shaking had lessened fractionally. He placed his hands on her shoulders and held her gaze.

"Hermione Granger, you are at Hogwarts. The war is over. You told me that yourself, when I woke up. Do you remember?"

Hermione took in a deep, shuddering breath and released his wrists. Her head leaned back against the wall as she pulled from his hold, her eyes closed, and an entirely different kind of sob escaped her throat. A delicate, shaking hand came up to push against the fresh tears as she cried, "I can't… I can't…."

Snape was at a loss and quite frankly far from his element. "What can't you do?" he asked, unsure of what else he should say. "Hermione, you're safe. You don't have to fight anymore." She shook her head again. When she opened her eyes, she looked at him miserably.

"I can't forget them," she whispered, despondent.

Snape gave a great sigh and let his hands fall to his knees. Studying her, he finally realized that this was no mere girl that sat in front of him. She was a warrior, a fighter, and every bit the victim of a terrible, terrible war she should have had no part in. And her heart was shattering.

His legs were burning. He slid to her side and sat, resting his back against the wall. Her head fell to her knees, and her eyes tracked him as he moved. They sat in silence, next to each other, her cries fading to the occasional hiccup.

He broke the silence first. "You witnessed many terrible things that night." It wasn't a question. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod. "How many times has this happened to you?"

She sniffed. "A few," she whispered.

He grimaced. He knew there was a reason she wasn't sleeping; he had already guessed that it was the after effect of the war, but he had hoped that that was all, and that she was having no more difficulty except adjusting to life as it is now. _Not so lucky, then,_ he thought.

He had seen this before, after the first war. From a distance he watched as the people around him suffered, their lives falling apart around them, in their own heads. He had experienced a bit of it himself. It was not something he wished on anyone who fought as bravely, as determinedly, as her.

He turned his concern back on the young woman at his side. "Tell me," he asked, "how have you dealt with this in the past?"

Her arms wrapped tighter around her bent knees, and she scrutinized her shoes. "I told you," she responded quietly. "I kept busy."

"You kept busy to keep from having these… panics. What have you done when they came anyway?"

She shifted and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Professor McGonagall used my name, before. It was unusual. It brought me back to reality."

That explained earlier, then. "It's good you were able to remember that," he replied, giving her a quick nod of approval. "What about the other times?"

The hall was rather dark, but he could still make out a blush forming on her face. "I…" she mumbled something incoherent, and when he raised his eyebrow at her, she hurriedly explained, "I would take your pulse." After a short pause, she elaborated, "Counting your heart's beat, feeling it beneath my fingers, helped me ground myself. It kept me from getting too lost."

A silence crept over the two.

Why could he not think of anything to say to that?

His discomfort grew to a breaking point.

In a hurry Snape pushed himself up to his feet. As irrational as it sounded even to him, the girl had used him. She had used him like a tool. He wished he felt angry. He wished he could lash out. The truth was, he felt very little- just a mild sense of unease and embarrassment. It was not something he enjoyed feeling regardless.

He barely heard it- barely registered it- but from the spot on the floor he heard her quietly breathed " _I'm_ s _orry_ " and felt that unease grow.

"Miss Granger why are you here?" he asked, looking down at her. She flinched, and he realized his words came out sharper than he had intended them to. _Well,_ he thought, _it's just as well. I pity her; I'm not here as a friend._ Despite his internal thoughts, he reached down a hand and helped her to her feet. "What are you doing in a dark hallway of Hogwarts at this time of night?" he asked again, making an effort to sound less harsh.

The traveling cloak she wore was too thin for this castle, even in the summer. She pulled it close to her as she crossed her arms protectively. "I came to ask Professor McGonagall for a place to stay tonight," she answered him, looking just over his shoulder. "I needed some time away from… everything," she sighed.

"And?"

He would have been amused with how many times he seemed to confuse her, how many times she gave him that furrowed brow and questioning eyes, if it hadn't been for the day he had. "Well, did you see her? Did she give you a room?" he clarified in a huff.

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. "She said I could stay in Gryffindor Tower. I was on my way there when…" she looked down at the ground, saw her wand resting at the foot of the suit of armor, and bent to retrieve it. When she stood, she glanced up and met his eyes- he suddenly realized that he had been staring.

"And why," he asked, "would you be needing rooms here?" His initial concerns came back to him. "Has something happened?"

"Nothing more than what we discussed earlier," she sighed, looking up at him sheepishly. "I just… needed some time… I haven't been alone in a long while and I need to sort things through in my head," she rushed out.

If it was one thing Snape could appreciate, it was being alone. "Then allow me to escort you to Gryffindor Tower," he responded. As soon as he said it, he saw her remaining discomfort melt away. _There was a time she would quake at being escorted back to her tower in my presence,_ he thought with a curiosity as they made their way through the castle. _Now, she is comforted. War changes so many things…_

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me how damaged she is?!" Snape demanded, pacing the office.

Minerva McGonagall huffed as she sorted a stack of papers. "Because she's not _damaged._ She's struggling."

Snape turned and stared at her. "She can't hold onto reality. Her brain is tricking her into seeing things so terrible she can't eat, much less sleep."

"That doesn't make her damaged, Severus."

"It makes her _something!_ " He threw himself roughly into the chair in front of her desk, leaning towards her. "And what have people been doing for her? Besides sending her to Gryffindor Tower by herself in a terrifyingly empty castle."

McGonagall plopped her papers down while giving him a dissatisfied glare. "Is there anything I can help you with, or are you content with huffing at me for the time being?"

Snape returned the glare, crossing his arms as he leaned back into the chair. "I have no home. It's been burned to the ground."

McGonagall blinked, stunned. "When?"

"Fairly recently, judging from the fact that it's still on fire."

"Revenge?"

"The dark mark was hovering overhead."

McGonagall sighed. "I'm sorry. I presume you need a room."

"Just for the night. Preferably not in Gryffindor Tower," he requested with a pointed stare, "as apparently it is occupied."

"For someone with nowhere to go you sure are snappy," she replied, but a smile tugged at her lips. "I've just finished moving out of my old rooms, if you'd like. I'm afraid I've occupied yours."

"You haven't burned my things as well, have you?"

She snorted. "I'll have a house elf send you whatever survived."

After a moment she glanced up from her papers. "Can I help with anything else?" she asked brusquely.

"You still haven't answered my question about Miss Granger. What is being done for her?"

McGonagall waved her wand and her papers filed themselves away. "Severus, I promise you I have not dismissed Miss Granger from my mind. I have spoken to her about what she's going through and I've suggested to her that retrieving her parents would only help. She is convinced it is yet too dangerous to do so." She paused, surveying him over her glasses, before adding, "You'll notice that she came here when she needed help."

Snape massaged his lower lip in thought. "She is right to leave her parents where they are- where are they, anyway? She hid them very well," he said.

"That I do not know," she answered, "but I disagree. I don't think she should leave them. We are perfectly capable of protecting her parents from any harm now that the war is over."

Snape snorted. "You always have been optimistic," he said. "The latest attack and my house burning down are two prime examples of the dangers she's trying to keep them from. The war may be over, but the fighting isn't, and she's smart enough to realize that."

"Speaking of the fighting," she replied, taking the conversation somewhere else, "how much do you know? Did Hermione update you on everything?"

"She brought me the paper. That's all I know of it." He began picking at a piece of lint at his sleeve and continued, "Apparently things were a bit… heated… at the Order meeting. She couldn't focus."

A humorless smile fell across McGonagall's face. "Yes, Harry's decision worried many of us. And don't roll your eyes at me, Severus. I myself was hoping that he would finally have a peaceful year now that this was over- to just be a student and not, for once, a savior." Before Snape could add what was sure to be a snarky comment, she continued, "Do you want to know what the Order discussed or not?"

His eyebrow rose at her brashness. "It would be appreciated, yes. Who does the Order think is behind the attack?"

"It's too soon to tell. It could be a copycat for all we know. But the likelihood of that is slim- apparently it was very reminiscent of former Death Eater activity."

"So it's most likely a Death Eater on the run." McGonagall nodded. "But is it a lone person or is it a group? And what do they wish to gain?"

"All evidence points to it being a small group of wizards. As for the motive…" she held his gaze uncomfortably, "we were hoping you could put that into perspective."

Snape sat quietly for a moment, rubbing his bottom lip in thought. "I will need to see a list of Death Eaters that have been captured or killed," he said slowly. "I can see if there are any unaccounted for." He shifted in his chair. "I will also need to speak to Narcissa."

"Narcissa Malfoy?" McGonagall's eyebrows rose as she summoned a few official documents to Snape, who pocketed them inside his robes. "Why?"

"Because I need information," he sighed. "While I was Headmaster here I was quite busy. I was excused from many of the smaller meetings Voldemort held. I may have missed something important."

"And you think Narcissa will give you the information willingly?"

"She will."

"What makes you so sure?"

Snape stood, adjusting his robes as he prepared to leave. "Because Narcissa only loves one thing more than herself, and that is her son. She'll do anything to ensure he has a friend at his trial."

* * *

Hermione barely had enough energy to make it to one of the plush red sofas in the common room before sleep overtook her. It was only two hours later when she lurched awake, a scream stuck in her throat and adrenaline racing. _Where am I?_ "Lumos," she whispered, and her wand threw the Gryffindor Common Room into light.

 _Oh, right._

Her frazzled nerves began to settle as she looked around. The common room was eerily quiet- more quiet than those late nights where the boys and she would sneak out in the early hours of the night. There was no evidence of any student life- no piles of abandoned textbooks, no misplaced robes, no half-finished games of Exploding Snap or any of the other small things that would usually have filled the common room with a sense of life. It was unsettling, and Hermione turned away from the stark room to light the fireplace instead.

Once the fire was crackling, she propped herself up on some plush throw pillows and stared into the flames. Unfortunately for her, while she couldn't quite remember what dream had awoken her, the fear still lingered and her heart just now began to settle. As there was little point in attempting sleep for the moment, she settled in for some introspective examination. She had wanted a room to think, and she was going to waste no more time. But where to start?

 _Harry. Let's start with Harry._ Hermione hated to admit it, but Snape had been right. She was going to be returning to Hogwarts without Ron and Harry in the fall, and she didn't know how she would handle that. The two boys and she had been nearly inseparable since their first year. She had never considered the possibility that they might not finish school together. And now, being in the Gryffindor Common Room alone, it secured her sadness. Her heart felt empty at being left behind.

And behind that emptiness, she felt an immense amount of self-loathing. On a logical stance, she understood how Harry felt, and she could even understand why Ron would want to go as well. So why couldn't she be supportive? Why did their decision hurt her so much? Why couldn't she just _get over it?_

She was struggling. She had to admit that to herself. The panics she was experiencing, the sleeplessness and the lack of appetite- she knew the signs. She knew she wasn't getting better, as she had hoped, with time. How long could she keep going like this? If Snape hadn't found her earlier…

And then there was Snape. She ran her hands through her hair- as much as she could before the snarls caught her fingers and she had to shake them loose. Snape was another concern to her. She had been so dependent on him lately- and while she was aware of how unhealthy that could be, she was afraid of what it meant now that she wouldn't have that support. Now that he had no need of her, it was just another goodbye she had to face. She hadn't thought too much of it, but she had enjoyed her conversations with him this past week. It was surprisingly pleasant, hearing his sarcastic commentary of their misadventures- a word he himself had used to describe their last year on occasion. He had given her a new perspective on things, and once, just once, he had even made her laugh. She smiled, thinking back on it, and her sadness grew. Now that he no longer needed her- for care, for information- she doubted he would seek her out in the future. What would he do now? Would she see him again?

She pushed past that thought quickly. The idea of not seeing him again hurt, and that hurt confused her. She was tired of being confused.

Instead her thoughts drifted to Ron, and a heavy sigh escaped her lips. She knew, _knew,_ that she had once had such strong feelings for Ronald Weasley. She remembered them as a distant memory, soft and blurred. There were times when the feelings came back, in an intense moment of clarity, and it was all she could do not to cry as she swam in the feeling of his embrace, of his kisses, of his hand on hers. But most of the time… most of the time she felt very little. It was astounding that in the nothingness she felt when she thought of him there loomed such a feeling of guilt and remorse. For years she had dreamt of the relationship she had now, with the man she had loved for so long as more than a friend, and now that she had it, it didn't feel real. She felt as if she was putting up an act, behaving only as she felt she should be, but not how she truly felt. She was not only lying to herself, she was lying to the world.

It was odd then, when such a nothingness filled her in their relationship, that she still felt lost when she learned of his desire to leave. But it was up to her, wasn't it, to be supportive? Even though, she thought with a bitterness she quickly tried to squash, his intentions were not expressed directly to her in the first place? Despite this, he needed her to stand by his side and strengthen his resolve- the supportive way a girlfriend should. Her feelings were not the only ones in this relationship, and she had to remember that despite how hard it was for her to ignore his future absence from her. And she wanted that, didn't she? Her boyfriend at her side?

Her fingers writhed together, and when she looked down at her hands she chuckled, remembering the last time they had taken this kind of abuse from her. **"** _By all means, continue twisting your fingers into knots."_ Snape had brought a genuine laugh from her that day, despite all the sadness that had been surrounding her. It was such a refreshing breath of air to be around someone outside of all of the sorrow and gloom that seemed to hover over the Burrow. With a pang in her chest she realized just how much she would miss it.

She shook her head and hovered another log onto the fire. It was time to focus less on the past and move forward.

She knew that her feelings towards Harry and Ron were temporary. She understood that, even if she couldn't feel it. The three had been through worse, much worse, and had come out just fine. With that in mind, she decided to try her hardest to be supportive of Harry and Ron, despite her underlying disappointment.

She still had the Ward Task Force research to complete. She supposed that, since Snape would have no need of her, it would make for a good use of her spare time. On top of that, she had a new school year to prepare for and the Order was still heavily involved in the post-war cleanup. She had plenty of things to keep her occupied- she didn't need to rely on Snape to keep her busy anymore. It was both a freeing and a heavy thought.

"Alright then," she said aloud as she reached for her bag, "I think it's time for a plan."

Her thoughts a bit less muddled, she pulled out a parchment, quill, and the Ward book. Sleep would not come for her for a while yet, she could feel it. Might as well get busy.

* * *

A/N: Wow, guys. I didn't think this chapter would be quite so long. I had to cut it short- there was supposed to be one more scene! But there were some powerful moments in this chapter and I felt like the scenes needed to be full. I know that overall a lot didn't happen in this chapter, but hopefully there was a connection and Hermione has finally gotten some peace of mind so things will move a bit more smoothly for her in the future. Let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

He woke with the dawn.

As the sunlight filtered through the tall castle windows, the man in the curtain-less four-poster bed groaned. With effort, he rolled onto his side, turning his back to the eastern windows, and dragged a pillow over his head. Seasoned as he was by residing in a dungeon for many years, even these efforts were futile. Shortly after the sun rose, so did Severus Snape.

Bleary-eyed and bitter, he threw on his robes and ran a hand through his hair. How long had he managed to sleep- three, four hours? Last night had been a long one. His tired eyes glanced over at the nightstand where he had thrown the pile of papers down after studying them late into the night. _Three missing Death Eaters,_ he thought to himself once more. There were three enemies of the country running loose through Britain.

He was no fool. In the event that Voldemort was defeated, he had had little doubt that there would be escapees. But it wasn't something he gave much thought to, as his own survival had been something of a question. Now, in the light of the morning and with a growing headache, the realization weighed heavily upon the former spy that he would once again be forced into an ordeal that would most certainly be taxing. As he was the only known former Death Eater on the side of the Light, he knew he would be relied heavily on for the capture of his former companions. There truly was no rest for such as him.

With an irritated growl he snatched up the papers and stormed out of the quarters. The door slammed behind him and he winced, the noise vibrating through his already-miserable head. He needed to speak with Minerva, but first he would check on the infirmary stocks. With any luck, there would still be something for his pounding temples.

* * *

When Hermione returned to the Burrow shortly after sunrise, she was unsurprised to find the house completely quiet. Easing the door closed behind her, she tiptoed into the living room and settled herself onto one of the repaired sofas. It creaked as she sat- repairing could only do so much, and the Weasleys were going to have to replace much of their destroyed furniture before long. For now, though, the familiar living room brought the house a much needed comfort, despite its rickety longevity. _It even smells the same,_ Hermione noticed as she buried her head into a throw pillow.

Much like the couches, Hermione was feeling a bit rickety herself. The evening alone had helped her immensely and she felt leagues improved from where she had been all week, but she knew that her night of clarity would only go so far. Now that she knew _what_ the problems were, she needed to be actively _fixing_ them or she, too, would fall apart.

Her lips parted into a long yawn and her arms stretched over her head before wrapping close to her chest. Her clear mind gave her the freedom to feel that her body was not well. Her lack of sleep had been hard to live on and she could feel herself fray at the edges. Her stomach churned, and she knew that she should try to find something she could eat, but she couldn't bear to move off of the couch. How she longed for a chocolate chip muffin… those muffins Snape had offered her seemed to be one of the few things she was capable of keeping down. _Maybe it's the chocolate,_ she thought sleepily. _He probably did it on purpose… if he didn't know I was in a bad way before, he certainly does now…._

* * *

"Mione?"

"Let her sleep, Ron."

"But breakfast is ready."

"She can eat later. She needs to rest."

"Yeah… I guess you're right…"

Hermione didn't remember falling asleep, but was eased awake by two hushed voices above her. Despite wanting to bury her head under the pillow, she instead turned it slightly towards the others and gingerly opened one eye.

"Hermione!" Ron fell to the ground next to the couch and brushed a strand of hair from her face. She could see Harry behind him, and gave him a tiny wave as he turned towards the kitchens. "I'm sorry," Ron was saying, and she turned her sleep-fogged attention back to him. "You can go back to sleep if you want to. I shouldn't have tried to wake you up."

"No, Ron, it's alright," she mumbled, smiling sleepily. Stretching her body like a cat's, arms stretched high and toes stretched low, she felt her joints pop and sighed. Someday soon she should spend her nights in a bed.

"Listen, Hermione. I owe you an apology," Ron continued, rubbing her arm delicately. "Not just about waking you- about everything. I should have told you-"

Hermione shook her head. "Ron, it's not necessary. I-"

"But it is necessary! You were right, 'Mione, you _should_ be able to trust me. And I kept this from you. I was being selfish, and you have every right to be upset!"

Hermione sat up. "Really Ron, this isn't the ti-"

"No, I don't want to wait," he argued, grabbing her hands as she tried to stand. "I need to get this out. You, me, and Harry- we're a family. And we need to tell each other what we're planning on. I promise to tell you from this moment on-"

"Ronald!" Hermione interrupted firmly as she stood. "This is very sweet and all, but I've _really_ got to use the loo!"

As far as apologies went, that could have gone better. But, she reflected as she slammed the bathroom door behind her (which thankfully muffled her boyfriend's laughter), sometimes nature's call was more important than a smooth delivery.

* * *

Shortly after breakfast the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione collectively gathered in the front yard and apparated to the location of the funeral of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. It was a simple gathering- Order members and family gathered around morosely in a small cemetery. Wildflowers dotted the grounds.

While this was a particularly hard funeral for many, Hermione noticed how Harry seemed to struggle more than usual. He kept glancing over at baby Teddy, clutched in his grandmother's arms, and clenching his fists to keep the tears at bay- Ginny, her hand in his, kept flinching at the powerful pressure around her fingers, but never once let go. Hermione reached out and grabbed his wrist, and when he met her eyes he nodded in silent thanks. Being supported on both sides, he was able to lessen his grip on his girlfriend's fingers.

It was common knowledge that Harry felt unusually attached to Lupin. Being the friend of his father and his godfather, Lupin was a tie to Harry's parents that died with him. The two had genuinely cared for the other, and she could only imagine what the loss of this man did to her best friend. She wished that she could do more- take him away from here, make him forget- but she knew that she could not. It was important for him to be here. If not for Lupin, then for Teddy, a babe that Harry found himself dutifully bonded to.

The death of Remus Lupin was hard for them all, but to lose Tonks as well was truly heartbreaking. A fierce woman with a kind soul, she was truly a wonder. To be able to look a cursed man in the face and reject fear and trepidation in the way that changed both of their lives for the better was a feat so remarkable it was unlikely to be seen again. The world wept its loss of her. Hermione wept for her. As Harry had lost a mentor in Lupin, they all had lost a friend in her.

"I can't believe it."

Confused, Harry and Hermione turned towards Ron. He nodded towards the back of the gathering. "What is _he_ doing here? He has some nerve, showing up."

They followed his gaze, and Hermione gasped softly. Separated from the group, withdrawn to the shadows of a nearby tree, stood a silent and brooding Severus Snape.

Harry tensed- her hand still holding his wrist held on tighter. "I don't understand…" said Harry slowly, his face constricting in confusion. "He _hated_ Lupin… and wasn't too fond of Tonks, either. Why-"

"He's gloating," said Ron, glaring at his former professor as the older man met his eye. "The last of his so-called _tormentors_ is gone. He thinks he's won because he survived them."

"Ronald!" Hermione hissed, forcing him to turn around towards the front. "That's a nasty thing to say!"

"You don't agree?"

"No I most certainly do _not_ ," she growled. "You weren't there when he found out about their deaths- he looked genuinely remorseful."

"You were?" Harry asked. "There, I mean. When he found out?"

"I told him," Hermione replied, thinking back on that day- the first time he had woken up. "He seemed… sad."

Ron snorted. "He's a bloody spy, Hermione. He's a good actor."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Are you seriously saying-?"

"Guys, _hush!"_ Ginny leaned over from Harry's other side and glanced pointedly around them- they were gathering some attention with their hushed argument. Hermione leaned back in her seat and gave Ron a disapproving glare. She had plenty more she wished to say, but Ginny was right to stop them- this was not the time.

* * *

There were far more important things for Severus to be doing than to be standing here in honor of a dead man he cared so little about. So what drew him to the shade of this tree, open to ridicule and suspicion? It was no more for the woman lying next to the man, he knew that much. For while he had little hatred in his heart for Nymphadora Tonks, they were not, as one would say, _friends._

No, he knew that he was drawn here today because of the man- the man so desperate to be accepted that he stood behind while his friends tormented an outnumbered classmate time and time again; so cursed that he could not ask for help when he so desperately needed it throughout his life; so blind that he could not see past a friendship to protect anything but a madman; so fearful that when it came to finally being accepted to the truest meaning of the world he ran like a coward in the name of kindness; and finally, so foolhardy that he would throw away his life in the fight for the greater good instead of enjoying the good thing Severus had never had himself just once in his entire life.

It took a great load of effort to admit to himself that he was not here to mourn Remus Lupin as much as he was here to mourn the _idea_ of Remus Lupin; the falling of a kind man, whose actions- while innocent- killed not only himself but his wife alongside him. There was a tragic sort of poetry in the loss of these two. The legacy they left behind in the poster-child for war would grow up hearing tales of his parents- the brave, prejudiced werewolf who changed the very definition of the condition by showing how human a monster really could be; and a mother whose fierce love defied all propaganda of fear and created a beautiful story of love… it was frowned upon to speak ill of the dead, and for once Severus felt he could abide by that teaching.

He was deeply affected by learning of this man's passing, not only because of their history as enemies-become-colleague-become-comrade, but because of the lack of a future the man was now destined to. Remus Lupin had always to him been his opposite- faced with a great struggle he saw light where Severus only saw darkness, he saw strength where Severus only saw weakness. He saw love when Severus only saw pain. Without Remus Lupin, Severus was a man with no constant. Remus' presence in his life had grown to be a comfort of sorts, and he feared he might grow to miss it.

There was very little remorse in these ponderings. Severus knew that with the passing of this man, he was now free of the last of what tied him to the past. For the first time in decades, Severus could think only for himself, and while it was a feeling not without guilt, he felt freed.

That is, until he laid eyes upon Harry Potter.

Of course, nothing could free him completely in this world as long as Harry Bloody Potter still walked the earth. The young man was a constant reminder of who he used to be, and as long as he lived, Severus would never fully escape the past he so desperately wished to shed. He had lived there for far too long, and it grew heavy on his soul. The hatred he had for the boy had little to do with him as a person, but who he represented- and who Severus wished to forget most of all. A twisted combination of his best and worst memories as a child, the boy infuriated Severus beyond belief, and all he had had to do was exist.

Still, he considered as he turned away from the glaring eyes of Ronald Weasley, there was something to say for being free of the last of his tormentors. He was not particularly close to Harry Potter, and now that the war was over there was hope that the boy would fade from his life. He could live with that, he knew. He had lived through far worse.

The funeral ended. As he turned from the crowd, thinking a walk could only do him good, he was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"Professor, wait!"

He glanced sharply down at the offending hand, and to the person it was attached. Hermione Granger shyly pulled her hand away, rubbing her fingers together. "I'm sorry, sir, I just… I wanted to catch you."

"So you have." He was shocked yet pleased to see that the Miss Granger from the night before seemed already to be a distant memory. The Miss Granger of last night was lost, breaking, scared. The Miss Granger standing before him seemed stronger, determined… frizzier. Almost as if the fire behind her eyes was producing static, and her hair had no chance. Still, it was refreshing to see this sudden change.

A moment passed between the two, one of silence as she looked over her shoulder. Following her gaze to the rest of her party, he said, "It seems as if your Mr Weasley does not approve of you speaking with me."

"Ron is a prat," she muttered, and her following blush as she glanced his way amused him. "Sir, I just wanted to say thank you," she continued in a rush. "For last night. If it weren't for you…"

She looked shyly away, biting her lip. "I'm very thankful for whatever brought you to Hogwarts last night, Sir."

He snorted, which seemed to shock her. Her eyes grew wide and her eyebrows knit in confusion, her mouth opening to say something, and then closing. It amused him- so much so that he decided to share with her what, exactly, the 'fortunate event' was that brought him to Hogwarts and that hallway the night before.

"My house was burned to the ground last night, Miss Granger," he explained, watching as her expression grew from confused to horrified. She really did have an incredible range of expressions. "I'm glad that one of us feels thankful for the situation."

"Oh, Sir!" her hands went over her mouth and she rushed out, "I'm so, so sorry! That was a terrible thing for me to say, Professor without knowing-"

"Miss Granger." He held up a hand to silence her. "Believe me when I say that in time I, too, will feel grateful for its burning. That house was held up by dust and dereliction. The only disappointment I maintain from losing it is that I am now, temporarily, homeless."

He could see in her eyes that she understood, and was reminded that she, too, was without a place to call home. Unless you'd include the Burrow, and if last night was any indication, she did not.

He grew uncomfortably aware of how chatty he had grown with her. Glancing once more towards her party, he added, "Now, if you'll excuse me, Miss Granger." He turned to leave.

"Professor?"

 _So close…_ he turned, slowly, back towards her. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Does this mean you'll be residing at Hogwarts for now?"

 _Why is she asking me this?_ Severus had the urge to simply walk away from this conversation, realizing with anger that he had been the one to bring it to this point. How was it that he was so uncharacteristically chatty with Miss Granger?

"The Headmistress has offered me a room for the time being," he answered slowly, his eyes narrowing as he looked over her features, trying to understand why she seemed to approve of that answer so.

"Then we may see each other soon," she smiled. "Good day, Sir. And thank you for coming," she added, before she turned back towards her party. "It was… kind."

He watched her leave, once more in amusement. Him- kind? She must surely be losing her mind.

* * *

In the week following the last of the funerals, Hermione felt accomplished. She had thrown herself into research about the wards. She helped Mrs Weasley shop for new furniture in Diagon Alley. She began helping Harry and Ron train for their Aurorship. And she, Harry and Ron were awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class in an lengthy event which preceded a night-long party where the trio were finally, _finally_ able to truly enjoy the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat.

Hermione's nightmares had not disappeared, but they had lessened, and so too did the circles under her eyes. She began to eat a chocolate chip muffin with breakfast, and she wholeheartedly believed that this was the cause of her stomach's sudden ability to hold things down. She was convinced to let Ginny give her massive mane a hefty trim, and was shocked at how much shorter and healthier her hair looked, bouncing around her shoulders as opposed to halfway down her back. It was an odd sort of relief, looking into the mirror and enjoying what she saw.

With the beginning of June just around the corner, Hermione felt better than she had in months.

During breakfast one morning, she received an owl. The rolled parchment landed in Ron's nearby porridge bowl with a _plunk_ as the owl took off out the open kitchen window. Ignoring the expressed shock and irritation from the diners around her, she simply shook off the parchment and unrolled it.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _The Barrier's magic around Hogwarts has faded to an acceptable level for us to begin our work. Please meet with the remainder of the team at the school gates where I have set aside a plot of land for us to begin our work. We will meet tomorrow the 1_ _st_ _of June at 8:30 in the morning for an overview, some practical exercises, and a quick lunch at Hogsmeade. I look forward to seeing you, my dear!_

 _F. Flitwick_

Handing the parchment over to Ron and Harry, who were eyeing her in anticipation, she spoke to the rest of the table, "Professor Flitwick would like the Ward Task Force to meet tomorrow. It sounds like the barrier magic has all but dispersed." A few people nodded.

Not much was said after that.

* * *

Severus Snape threw a similar bit of parchment aside as he sat by the fire of his temporary quarters. He had only just agreed to help the giddy little Charms Master the day before last, and already he was being called to the task. He took a deep swig of his tea before setting it on the end table and standing irritably. He had a trial to prepare for, a meeting to arrange with an Azkaban prisoner, and a home to purchase- and now he had these meetings to look forward to.

If he hadn't felt partially guilty for his actions as Headmaster over the past year, he would have told Filius exactly where he could shove his Task Force.

No matter- what's done was done. He would be there tomorrow, but right now he had more important things to take care of.

He left his quarters that morning already tired from all that remained doing.

* * *

"Hello everyone, and welcome!"

Professor Flitwick stood upon several crates at the castle gates in order to stand above the gathering of people around him. At a distance Hermione could just make out his petite frame teetering high on his tower and hoped that whatever spell he had cast to keep himself up there found no errant ward magic. As she approached, winded, her summer robes slipping from her shoulder, she scanned the crowd. Many Hogwarts professors were in attendance, including Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Sprout, Professor Slughorn, and…

Professor Snape?

Her arrival must not have been very subtle, for as she approached he had turned. Their eyes met, hers in confusion and his in amusement as she blew a curl from her face. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing that Professor Snape seemed to view her as if she was his personal entertainment, but she supposed it was better than some of his viewpoints of her from their past.

Professor Flitwick began to speak again, and with a gentle huff of laughter Professor Snape turned back towards the man towering above them. Hermione stared at him a few moments more before turning her attention to the front, still amazed at how quickly his opinion of her had seemed to change. Maybe there was some truth in the rumors, after all- maybe his ugly demeanor _was_ an act.

"Unlikely," she muttered under her breath as she gave her tiny Professor her full attention instead.

Professor Flitwick was waving his wand. To his left, a number of doors much like those found in the castle were summoned to stand rigidly upon the grounds. "Since there are a number of novice ward casters here today," he explained, "I would like to encourage each of you to practice on these doors. Work to your skill level, whether it's casting a single spell or a layer of them. I have asked my colleagues to walk amongst you and offer advice if needed. Well, let's begin!"

Hermione's spirits soared as the group dispersed and a small grin spread across her face. She felt very confident in her abilities as she approached a door and pulled out her wand. After all, hadn't her wards protected her, Harry and Ron during their journey for the Horcruxes? Hadn't she managed to cast them every day for months?

Fifteen minutes later, after her spells failed once more to layer, she began to doubt herself. Biting her lower lip and staring at her wand in disbelief, she groaned, the crescendo of which rose into a small shout.

"Having some difficulties, Miss Granger?" A soft voice purred from behind her. Her body tensed.

 _Of course_ he'd _be the one nearby._ Internalizing a growl of frustration, she took a deep breath and turned towards Professor Snape. "Every. Single. Day. Every single day I made a working, layered ward around our camp, and now my magic is just- it's just not having it." She threw another spell angrily at the door, to no effect. "It's been less than two months, what on earth could have changed in that amount of time?!"

Professor Snape held up his hand as she raised her wand once more. "Stop. Just- just stop a moment."

Put off guard, she lowered her wand and turned her eyes to look at him. He was eyeing her quizzically; his head turned slightly, his finger running across his lower lip in thought. Under his scrutiny, she flushed.

Finally, as if a spell broke, he nodded. "Miss Granger, come with me," he said, walking away from the mass of people. After a moment of hesitation, she shook off her confusion and followed.

He led her to a quiet bit of shade on the opposite side of the gates, a large oak tree offering relief to their sun-warmed skin- something the both of them privately appreciated, for the two of them wore long sleeved robes. "Miss Granger," he began, turning towards her but looking over her shoulder towards the group of Task members, as if he were uncomfortable looking her directly in the eye. The slight action worried her more than being dragged away from practice. "You have had a very difficult time of things since the Final Battle. Your body was damaged. Your mind… is healing. Things like this…"

He turned his head, meeting her gaze abruptly. "Things like this will affect your magic, as well."

Hermione's stomach sank.

"My magic has been damaged?" It came out as a whisper, hoarse and choking. Her breathing quickened and her hand rose to rest on her midriff, her stomach abruptly flip-flopping. He hurried to reassure her.

"Not permanently. But if I'm correct- and I have very little doubt of that- your magic is dampened because of the physical and emotional trauma you've experienced. It is… not uncommon."

"How do I get it back?" Her vision grew cloudy- she blinked away unconscious tears and took a deep breath. _You can't lose control, Hermione. Not here, not now._ With effort, she focused on the words Professor Snape was speaking.

"You need to compartmentalize. When you cast, you carry the expectation of your words. It weighs you down. You must clear your head. Before you cast a spell, you need to empty your mind. Use-"

"Use Occlumency," she breathed.

Snape blinked. "I was going to say-"

"Teach me!"

" _What?"_

Hermione took a step closer to her professor, his eyes wide and body tense, unknowingly matching her own. "Please, Sir, teach me how to use Occlumency!"

Snape took an involuntary step back and crossed his arms. "I've taught you before. I'm not in a hurry to do so again."

"But this is different," she pursued. "This isn't something I can learn on my own. I need guidance. Please, Sir," she begged, "I can't lose my magic. After everything, I can't lose…"

A hitch in her breath brought her words to an end and, fingertips at her lips, she waited.

"You won't lose it," he grumbled quietly. She stared at him, determined, unwilling to be the first to break eye contact, to give up.

"Please," she whispered. Just one word was all she could manage from her tight chest.

Minutes passed.

Then, before her eyes, she saw Professor Snape transform. One moment he was hardened, unrelenting- he gave no outward signs as to his inner thoughts. The next…

She had never seen this man so sympathetic.

With a simple sigh his body relaxed, his rigid shoulders becoming loose and his arms unfolding. A hand reached up and ran fingers through his hair, and his eyes looked at her with a softened expression, his lips pulled in a defeated line.

"I am tired." His words gave her very little, but still she felt her hope rise. "I have much on my plate as it is. If I agree to do this, you must not fight me on anything."

"I swear I-"

"Listen to me, Miss Granger," he growled. "This is very different from classwork. This is invasive, tiring, and trying. This is something I can teach you, but you must not fight my methods, despite your discomfort. I cannot promise I will be kind. Do you understand?"

His words quieted her desperation and left behind a tinge of fear. She remembered Harry's account of how terrible his own Occlumency sessions were- she had always chalked it up to the hatred the two had for each other. She was less sure now. She knew Professor Snape's words were spoken honestly and that he wasn't trying to scare her away- if he had, he wouldn't have even offered to teach her. He knew what her answer would be. And so did she.

"I understand, Professor," she nodded. "I'll do it your way. When do we start?"

* * *

AN: It has been a while! I do apologize. I have taken up some extra duties as an admin for a (surprise surprise) Harry Potter Facebook page, have written a one-shot of these two wonderful characters for said HP page (which sadly did not win but hey- now that you're done with this you can find it on my profile!), and I've been very busy helping a friend with her wedding, of which I will be a part of in just a few weeks! This chapter has been written for a while, but the editing was rough. I just could not be happy with it.

With the last chapter I received some lovely reviews and I would like to thank everyone who reaches out to me. Your words mean so much to me and I love each and every review I read. Knowing that people are actually fans of my writing is such a good motivator to not give up on this! I may be slow at times, but I have no plans to quit. Thank you all for that!

Please, check out my one-shot, I Grew to Love You. It is my gift to you for putting up with me.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

"Severus Snape."

The chains around the chair's limbs shook in what could only be inanimate frustration. Severus was shocked, honestly, that they were spelled against wrapping around his arms. The weight of the chains, the restriction of movement, would have made this whole ordeal almost easier. He felt oddly light in comparison; exposed. It was unnerving.

The Chief Wizengamot stood at the front of the trial chamber. The room hushed when he rose, the echoing buzz of the room silenced in a single breath. "The Wizengamot has come to a conclusion," he called forth, his voice ringing out over the stands, which were surprisingly full for a private hearing. Anyone whose name held weight seemed to have found a reason to be invested in his case, and though there were plenty of familiar faces, Severus saw more strangers staring down at him than those he could consider friends. Amongst others loyal to him was one Harry Potter, main witness to Mister Snape's 'true intentions and loyalties,' accompanied as usual by Weasley and young Miss Granger, who he noticed sat straight-backed between her friends, wringing her hands in her lap as he had come to notice she did in times of stress. Ignoring the crowd, Severus met the Chief's eyes to hear his fate once and for all, showing no outward signs of distress. Inwardly, he was holding his breath.

"As of this moment, on the 3rd day of June 1998, we the Wizengamot proclaim that one Severus Tobias Snape, accused of traitorous war crimes, be exonerated of all charges with no probationary limits at this time."

And there it was- his freedom.

Though he expected it, the reality rushed through him like a wave. It wasn't until this moment that the fear he had been suppressing- the true uncertainty of his fate- allowed itself to be felt just as it washed away. A buzzing filled his ears, a tightness filled his chest, and when finally he remembered to breathe, his wand was being handed to him, the tracing spell removed.

He shook as he stood from the chair, his hand grasping his wand with a new sense of liberation.

All around him was a chaotic flood of activity and flashing lights as reporters attempted to capture this moment, the smoke from their cameras creating a dense haze throughout the chamber. His procession from the room was slow, the crowd thick around him with the ministry workers holding the worst of it at bay as he attempted to make his way towards the halls. As he was just beginning to shake the feelings of it all being a dream, a hand reached out and grasped his arm.

"You don't want to go that way," shouted Harry Potter over the cacophony of noise, and Severus had to shake his head to clear the last of the buzzing. "There are reporters and gawkers lining the halls from here until the fireplaces. The Minister has offered you use of his personal Floo Network, just follow me."

Free of the fog of disbelieve, Severus glared through the smoke and brushed past question after question that was thrown his way as he followed the Boy Who Lived Again down the hall towards the High Class Elevators. A badge on Potter's uniform proved clearance enough to board the lift, and as the doors closed behind them the sudden silence seemed to echo in the absence of the stridency of the public.

After taking a moment to enjoy the sudden quiet, Severus turned towards his companion and saw for the first time how the Auror uniform the young man donned seemed to change him. He looked so unlike the Harry Potter he knew, so different from the boy his mind held onto. It was an uncomfortable realization. He shied away from thinking on it further, instead falling back on questioning the boy's worth.

"Unless I'm mistaken, a simple Auror in Training should not be privy to a badge such as that," he commented, nodding towards the brass coin-shaped Ministry seal glimmering on Potter's chest.

"Just another perk to being the Chosen One, sir," he responded with a grin, eyes glinting behind his iconic round glasses. Severus, taken aback by the self-assured brashness, felt the familiar tug of hatred and sneered.

"Still so full of ourselves, aren't we?" he growled. "After everything you've gone through, you're still _so_ much like your-"

"My father, yeah, I know." The young man's smile remained, but his eyes clouded with emotion. "But," he added after a moment, "I don't think that's such a bad thing."

Severus snorted, and Harry continued, "I know, I know. My father was terrible to you. From what I saw in your memories he was terrible from the moment you met him. But I also saw my mother. She wasn't awful like he was. She was kind. I don't… I don't think my mother would have fallen for my dad if he was only the person he was to you. You know?"

Severus did not speak. Whenever Lily was mentioned around him, his chest tightened, and to have her own son speak of her to him made his discomfort far more than physical. Harry continued, "The more I think of it, the more I wonder… how much of his bullying was just childish hatred? Like Draco Malfoy and the fights we got into at Hogwarts. Now that we've grown, I can understand that he was fighting his own battle just as I was fighting mine. But at the time, all I could see was this… anyway." He coughed, and Severus briefly wondered how long this elevator ride was going to take. "My point is, Sir, that if my mum fell in love with my dad, then he must have had more good in him than bad." His green eyes briefly met Severus's black. "So yeah, I may be like my father. But I don't think that's a bad thing."

With a chime that promised freedom, the elevator doors opened. The men stepped out, and Harry outstretched a hand towards Severus. "I never got to thank you," he said, "for keeping me alive."

"I didn't do it for you," he snarled, dismissing the boy's hand with a glare. But Harry didn't seem to take offense.

"You still did it. You could have forgotten her."

 _Forgotten Lily?_ The thought deeply unsettled Severus. If there was one thing he was certain in, it was that he could never forget that woman, that girl from his childhood. His heart raced at the thought. He turned towards Harry in anger, but the Boy Who Lived stretched his hand out again.

"All I want is to thank you, Sir," he said. "I'm not asking to be your friend."

With resignation and a realization that this one action separated him from his own rooms, Severus grasped the boy's hand and shook once, briskly. "I'm glad to hear that," he muttered. With a swirl of robes he turned and stormed into the Minister's office, slamming the door behind him.

 _Blast that Potter!_ It was much easier to hate him when he was full of pride.

* * *

The castle echoed under her steps as Hermione crossed the entrance. Her eyes met Snape's across the way, dark and piercing, with his robes billowed around him once more, and wondered at how different he looked to her now. Her perception of her former teacher had changed so much of late that it was a shock to see him so natural in what to her seemed to be a scene from a previous life. It put her nerves on end.

He waited quietly by the entrance to the dungeons, and when she approached with a timid "Good morning, Sir," he nodded in acknowledgement and proceeded down the stairs. She followed, the silence between the two broken only by the clack of their footsteps, of the crackle of the torches.

Minutes passed with naught but a sigh shared between the two, but after numerous turns through dark corridors Hermione finally dared to ask, "Where are we headed, sir?"

His head turned fractionally back towards her as he replied, "I have arranged for a private work space. We aren't far now."

In truth they weren't. Within moments Snape turned once more and halted.

They were standing in front of a set of large double doors. The torchlight flanking the entrance danced across delicate engravings in the wood, intricate and winding. While most were abstract and of the swirling variety, two defined figures wound themselves around one another at the door's seal. Snake-like but feathered, two large wings protruding from each creature's back and a fierce, pointed beak, the creatures made for a stunning sight.

"Occamys?" Hermione asked quietly, stepping forward to stroke the etching, and jumped when the creature shivered under her touch. She heard Snape huff and turned to look just in time to catch a small upturn of his lips.

"They are charmed to guard the entrance," he explained, stepping beside her and reaching to run a long finger down the back of the nearest Occamy's spine. " _Libero sigillum_ ," he muttered, and stepped back as the twin Occamy shook themselves awake. Seemingly pulling themselves from the wood, they twirled from each other upwards with spread wings and stretched against the door's edge until they were no longer covering the seal, and continued around the frame until they halted, bodies curled in an 'S' formation against the split and flanking it from either side. Hermione noticed a glimmer in their eyes as they settled in their new poses, feathers becoming naught but wood once more.

The doors opened.

The room they walked into was lit in a sudden warm glow as sconces burst into light at their entrance. Roughly the size of a tennis court, the rectangular space was mostly empty, but the far walls on either side were lined with cabinets, wardrobes, and… were those training dummies?

"Where are we?" she asked, eyeing a chalkboard near the door, the faint lines of wand movements still visible beneath a layer of dust.

"We're in the old Dueling Club room," he answered, and as she turned she saw him summon two elegant wooden chairs in the center of the floor, one on each side of an engraved midline.

"Hogwarts has an official Dueling Club?"

"Had," he clarified. "It was disbanded around the time of Grindelwald's uprising. Some felt it unwise to have an extra-curricular that promoted violence." Waving his hand towards the chairs he added, "I have procured this room for our studies. Sit, and we may begin."

"Why this room?" she asked, sitting in the offered chair.

He sat across from her, his robes pooling at his feet, and replied, "There will come a time where I will need to test your skills in friendly combat. This room has everything we need- privacy, tools, and magically enhanced safety."

"It's a wonder I haven't heard of this room before," she mumbled, looking around. The walls, she noticed, held a faint shimmer- a protection against damage, perhaps? And what was in the cabinets and wardrobes? She gripped the armrests tighter in her urge to explore.

"It isn't, really," Snape answered, bringing her attention back to her teacher. "The only students that explore the dungeons this far down are the Slytherins, and none of them have had luck getting through the doors. I would know," he added, "as both the Slytherin Head of House and the Headmaster would have been alerted to such a breach."

"Were you aware of this room when you were a student?"

"I was, yes. However," he cleared his throat, "we are here to train, not to chit-chat." He pulled out his wand and met her eyes. "I assume you did the reading I recommended?"

"Yes, Sir," she replied, sitting straighter.

"Good. Then let's begin."

There was no warning. One moment, her thoughts were her own, and the next, they weren't.

Memories flashed rapidly before her eyes, chaotically, against her will. She saw glimpses of the Burrow, her childhood home, the Transfiguration classroom- but only glimpses, as memory after memory sped on by, lingering only a fraction of a second longer on one particular scene- the medical tent, where she sat vigil over his still form. Even so, without a chance to breathe or fight or _think_ , that memory was soon placed by another, and another until, feeling suffocated, Hermione finally attempted to pull back.

Just as soon as he had entered her mind he was gone, and she threw herself up from the chair, which clattered to the ground as it was knocked out from under her.

Her breath was coming in gasps and she was shaking as she clutched her head, her nails digging into her scalp. Her eyes closed as tightly as they could and her heart raced, its heartbeat the only thing she could hear, a constant _woosh woosh woosh_ that left her disoriented. She stepped back, stumbling over the leg of the chair and reaching out behind her to grab at something- anything-

A hand grasped her by the arm and she jolted, eyes thrown wide as she looked up into Snape's dark features. "What-" she gasped.

"Are you alright?"

His hand still held her arm, and she pulled it roughly from his grasp, her sense of balance returning to her. "Am I _alright?_ " she huffed as the _woosh_ ing subsided and she could hear again. "What the hell _was_ that?"

The hand that had held her tightened into a fist and fell to his side. "That," he replied roughly, "was the introduction to your training." He turned quickly back towards the chairs, picking hers up and placing it in front of his once more. "Now kindly sit, so we can continue."

" _That_ was not training." Her hands were still shaking and her heart remained frantic. Her head felt slightly woozy, and a fatigue washed over her. She felt exposed, violated… angry. She did not approach her chair, but balled her hands into fists at her side and continued, " _That…_ that was violence."

"Have you already forgotten what I told you when you asked this of me?" he snapped. "I warned you it would be invasive. I told you not to question my methods."

"What kind of method-"

" _Sit,_ Miss Granger, or are you releasing me of this burden?" His knuckles were white on the back of her chair and his voice held a barely concealed edge. "It is not I that wanted this, after all, but you."

She could not yet meet his eyes; she did not wish to see what reflected in those dark orbs. But his harsh reminder that this was by _her_ request forced her to rescind her arguments. Harry had warned her against this, Snape himself had warned her against this, but she refused them their concerns. She _needed_ her magic back. And this was the way to get it.

Without saying a word, she walked stiffly to her seat and sat down.

Snape returned to his chair, all but falling into it. His elbows on his knees, he leaned forward and explained, "The first step towards using Occlumency is to understand what you're using it against. And the best, fastest, and easiest way to truly understand that is to experience a legilimency attack firsthand." She still would not meet his eyes and he paused. "Do you understand, now?"

Did she understand? Her eyebrows furrowed as she considered his words. She had read the books he had owled her and had still been quite foggy on the mechanics of how to work the mind. Now the words made more sense. She had talked to Harry, listened to his complaints about the invasive practical lessons, and only now could she really and truly empathize with him. Honestly, she told herself, she should have expected this, would have if this were any other class- if she had nothing more stressful to worry about than essays and exams. Logically, it was the fastest way to introduce oneself to this study, to truly understand how it felt to have someone else in ones' head.

Yes, she understood. But it didn't make it any easier to stomach. She took a moment to concentrate on breathing, to relax her fisted hands and to finally look up and meet his gaze. With a sigh she asked, "Was there _no_ other way?"

He shook his head once sharply and replied softly, "None that would have been nearly as effective."

He paused a moment before adding, "If it's any consolation, I wasn't _looking_ for anything. I was just making a presence. I caught only glimpses of your memories, and will continue to do so until further into our training." She nodded, assured.

"That's nice to know," she mumbled. The last vestiges of anger still tumbled in her gut, but she shrugged her shoulders and ignored it. "So… what now?"

"Now," he instructed, his voice taking a teaching tone once more, "we talk about your shields. Do you meditate?"

"I've done it once or twice," she admitted, skeptical. This wasn't in any of the reading material she had been given.

"I've found that meditation is a prime way to clear one's thoughts," he explained, standing up and moving to one of the cabinets.

"Did you teach Harry meditation?" Hermione asked, trying to remember if her friend had ever mentioned anything of the sort.

She noticed Snape pause for a fraction of a second before opening the cabinet doors. "In a way," he answered slowly. "Mister Potter was a different sort of student, and the situation was… different." When he turned around, he held two large purple cushions in his hands. He continued as he walked towards her again, "Your mental capacity for all things is comparatively much more advanced. I have decided on a certain regimen that should fit your needs well."

Hermione watched curiously as her former- well, technically current- professor arranged the cushions on the ground very similarly to the chairs. Removing his long outer robes, he gestured to the cushion nearest her and said, "Make yourself comfortable. We will be working on meditation as it pertains to Occlumency for the remainder of the lesson."

As she sat cross-legged across from the last man she ever thought she would see in a meditative positon, the changes in their relationship came to her mind once more. There was so much more to this man than she had originally realized. The more they chipped away at the student-teacher relationship they had in the past, the more she felt she truly knew who Severus Snape really was. She liked what she saw.

She wanted to know more.

That thought made it a bit difficult to listen to the instructions he was giving her, but she gave it her best.

* * *

Off the coast of Wales, South of Cardiff, foamy waves crashed violently on the jagged rocks that lined the shore. Darkness had fallen when the three men appeared on the beach, black cloaks flapping in the wind, the mist from the waves clinging to their clothes in tiny beads. Silently they made their way down the coast, and as one motioned towards an outcropping of rocks in the distance, another man raised his wand and gestured, a sweeping line across the water. Slowly, shakily, large flat stones rose from the waves and created a small, slippery path towards the rocks in question.

Single file the men crossed the water, and single file they slipped through the gap between two large, pointed boulders.

The stone stairs that led the men downward were lined with torches, flickering across the dark, damp surfaces. The rush of the waves died down the lower they went, their footsteps echoing endlessly. One of the men coughed.

"He loves to be dramatic, doesn't he?" muttered the man in the rear. In front of him, his companion snorted.

"The man faked his death and built an underground support system on the off-chance the Dark Lord wasn't dead. Of course he's dramatic."

"How do you think he knew?" the man in back asked again as the stairs ended and they were led into a wider corridor. "No one else suspected he'd come back. Do you think he knows something this time?"

"I doubt he'd call us otherwise."

The trio walked in silence once more as the corridor led them to a flat expanse of stone. The man in the lead, who hadn't spoken yet, reached out a hand and snapped at one of the other men, who quickly patted his robes. The first man sighed.

"I swear, Julien, you are the most useless piece of-"

"Got it!" Julien's arm flew up as he pulled a scrap bit of parchment from his pockets. His smile faded as the paper was torn from his hands. "I didn't lose it, Antonin. I'm rather new to all this, but I'm not an idiot."

"Hmm…" with a rather aggressive flourish, Antonin flicked open the parchment and tapped it with his wand. The paper glowed, and an inky scrawl appeared on its surface.

"Here," he grunted, shoving the paper back towards the other two. Once they all had studied it, he took it back and flung it to the wall, where it stuck. "Incendio," he cast without flourish.

As the ash fell to the ground, the stone melted away, and the three men continued on.

* * *

Carden Vayne was a patient man. He had a respect for time, and all it could bring together. With enough pause between his words, a stranger would reveal to him their deepest secrets. Days of waiting could reveal the perfect opportunity where rashness would bring ruin. Study a man and he could come to know them better than they knew themselves. Timing was an art, and he was Master.

Which is why he found himself pacing his study, his highball of whiskey sloshing as he turned again and again, waiting.

The fall of Voldemort was not something he hadn't accounted for. In truth, from the day the Dark Lord paid him a visit following his resurrection, Carden had begun to plan more and more for that eventuality. The fallen man's instability had grown painfully obvious. He was no longer able to put aside his own personal hatred to value the ideals he had spoken so strongly of in the beginning. In truth, it was the first clue Carden picked up on that perhaps The Boy had become an accidental horcrux- perhaps he had stolen the last of Lord Voldemort's sanity.

He knew, of course. Over a decade had passed since he had figured it out. Horcruxes were a dark, secret evil that many knew nothing of, but Carden knew. And he pieced together the changes that had overcome the Dark Lord. The longest bout of waiting in his life was waiting for the perfect opportunity to confront his Lord about his suspicions. As planned, the waiting paid off.

The Dark Lord was impressed that his tactical follower had figured out his deepest secret. Frustratingly, he knew better than to divulge the whereabouts and identity of the items he had chosen to be his vessels, but Carden was convinced that with enough time he would be able to figure it out himself. His silence was paid for, of course. Voldemort respected honesty, but trusted assurances less. Carden was given a promotion. His death was feigned during a celebratory raid and he found himself on his way to Wales, off the grid and free to pursue a support system for the Dark Lord outside of England.

The first fall of Voldemort happened shortly after. Carden had just started to ease his way into the workings of Wales' dark side when a whisper of the news reached his ears. Despite his knowledge that the Dark Lord would in fact return, it did change things. He forced himself to pull back, to reassess his plans.

He spent many nights over a pint at the local dive bar, listening to the restless crowd. Few of the honest persuasion chose to frequent the Lazy Weevil; the wood-rotted furniture and stained, chipped glassware was obscured by dim lights and smoke and despite a constantly lit fireplace the dampness of the air never completely went away. It was a perfect place to sit, unnoticed, as countless patrons blathered endlessly of their difficulties. It was a perfect place to gain allies.

He began trading favors. He would approach a troubled drinker, order a round, and offer up his assistance. Some needed money- he offered a loan. Others needed someone out of their way- he handled this easily. He arranged meetings, sabotaged plans, retrieved information; he stole and murdered his way into countless good favors. And once he had respect, he began to talk.

Convincing murderers and thieves that a deceased mass murdering ideologist would once again rise to power was no easy feat, but Carden had- as some would say- 'a way with words.' It took time, but he convinced many allies to prepare themselves for the Dark Lord's second coming. Shortly after he solidified his followers, the Dark Lord rose again. And he had expected, the ones he spoke to that refused his words soon came flocking to him in awe.

The months progressed into years, and Carden Vayne's master plan began to shift. No longer did he find himself a true believer in the Dark Lord. What did it matter, truly, if the boy lived or died? Time would find them all dead men, in the end- rushing to meet it head-on was foolishness.

No, Carden did not believe in his Master anymore. Carden believed in himself.

The ideals that had brought him to the Dark Lord's side in the first place became his true focus. Slowly, so as to escape notice, he started to spread doubt among his followers; questions about the wisdom of the Dark Lord's new focus, uncertainty at every decision he made. He watched as those loyal to him became agitated with each new play, grumbling to themselves over grubby pints in shadows. He watched, and he waited, and then Voldemort died.

The news was jarring to those around him, but he acted quickly. He sent missives to those escaping the Ministry; he visited the most influential of his followers. He told them all to spread the word: Voldemort's true mission would continue on. He may have begun the fight, but they would finish it!

Carden had waited. He spent years waiting.

He was ready for action.

* * *

A/N: Hey did you know bad guys aren't my strong suit? It took me AGES (oh wait, you know that) to figure out how to make my villain who I wanted him to be. Luckily, my husband is brilliant when it comes to villainy. He essentially saved this story from the depths of the incomplete. He is your hero. Worship him.

I am not totally pleased with this chapter, but I figured you all have waited long enough. I may come back and edit it later, but for now, take comfort in the fact that I've started the next chapter already. Oh, and look for random one-shots. I've already written and posted a SS/HG one-shot and will soon post my newest. I have been entering contests while I waited for this story to make sense.

I love you all and I'm so terribly sorry for the wait!


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